


no salvation for the lost ones

by ValentineRunaway



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Western, Eventual Smut, M/M, Side Romance, Slow Burn, Wild West AU, as slow burn as i can make it because i want the gays to be happy, it's ya boi back with the multichapter au story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-06 09:03:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16829410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineRunaway/pseuds/ValentineRunaway
Summary: Hank Anderson, a lonesome bounty hunter, comes to face a young man who has no past. The only thing he is carrying with him is the name 'Connor' and the need to find his own course. Hank ends up helping him, but when he is assigned to take care of a delinquent named Zlatko Andronikov, Connor insist on joining him on an adventure.A Wild West AUHannor fic with a tiny Simarkus story on the side, because I wanted to write both.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Cowboys & Aliens. That's why I'm here.
> 
> It took me a long while to find strength to write again, since school is keeping me busy, my leg is killing me and my own mental health is falling apart. But I'm extremely eager to write something that challenges me and my writing abilities.  
> I want to mention that I knew jackshit about wild west and how it worked, so obviously some parts of the story are based on what I saw in the movie. Anyway, I had a lot of fun planning and writing this story, so I hope you all too enjoy reading it!

The first thing Hank Anderson saw when the sun started rising was a figure standing in the middle of the desert. It was unusual to see anyone just wandering around here - That's the first reason he lived so far from the town in the first place. Away from society, in his own company. But this morning was different. 

All he had done was to get out with his dog to feed his horse, and then he saw it. Something, or someone, standing far away right where the sun started rising up to the sky. Hank had stared at the person for long, also admiring the view behind him like every morning. Mountains. Sky glowing nicely orange. Cactuses. Shit ton of sand and nothing in the horizon.

Expect him.

Hank wasn't sure how he was supposed to react. But his instincts told him to pull out his gun before it would be too late. Other part of him told him to drink some water, rub his eyes and check again in case he was seeing something his mind was making up. But the moment the figure collapsed down, Hank wasted no time to get on his horse and make his way towards him, cursing under his breath. He should have taken water with him, or something before rushing out. Now it was too late to turn back anyway. He wasn't the kind of man who helped strangers in the first place, he wasn't fucking prepared to help any man he met. He was extremely wary of everyone who came close. At least he had a gun in his holster.

He pulled from the ropes of the bridle to get his horse to stop once he had come close enough. Hank got down from the saddle and made his way towards the figure, walking as slowly and quietly as he could.

It's a young man. Maybe somewhere in his 30's. And he is almost nude. His shoulders are bare with small freckles painted over the skin, and his feet have no shoes on. His knees look a little bruised, although they aren't quite glowing red. The only thing the young boy was wearing was a ... a white dress. A goddamn dress. The kind of dress the ladies wore to bed. Almost see-through with the right lightning, gauzy fabric, a little frill at the hem and the middle on the chest area. What the fuck has happened that this kid had ended up wearing something like this?

A prostitute, maybe. But why the fuck would he be out here in the middle of nowhere? Not the best place to look for customers.

Hank crouched down and pressed his fingers against the man's cheek, then held his hand over his mouth to feel possible air blowing against his skin. Hard to tell if the fucker was even breathing. It didn't look so good. Hank inspected his form a little more. Skinny, but a little muscular. Well build, so it appeared. Pale skin. Pretty brown hair. Pink lips that were parted.

He noticed something odd about his temple. Hank traced his fingers over it, making the same circular movement again and again. Odd. Very odd, indeed. There was some kind of a scar or a birthmark there. He pulled his hand away soon after and sighed. "Alright", Hank said, mostly to himself. "Get up, boy."

Even if his back was fighting against it, Hank managed to lift the young man up into his arms and seat him over onto the saddle. And then he walked his horse back over to his little cottage, his arm supporting the unconscious person.

What a fucking morning.

\--

Hours passed before the young man opened his eyes and looked around. The first thing he saw was a man sitting in a wooden chair, holding a gun over his lap with both hands. His boots were dirty, his trousers had a patched knee and his shirt was oddly colorful with crazy patterns drawn over it. A brown cowboy hat was placed over his grizzled hair that was hanging over his face and his brown jacket was resting against the back of his seat. His knuckles were bruised, the skin torn so many times it had a difficult time healing. A decrepit, old man.

"Good, you're awake", Hank said. He looked tired, like he had been sitting there the whole time, refusing to take his eyes off the stranger sleeping in his bed. He placed his finger over the trigger as a warning. "Care to tell me who you are?"

No asking if the young man was alright. No giving him any water unless he was proven to be trusted. No questions about the fucking dress. At least not yet.

The man blinked, again and again, before slowly sitting up on the edge of the bed. His face was oddly emotionless and his posture was straight. He placed his hands over his knees and once again looked around. He seemed curious, not much scared of the firearm Hank was holding. It's like Hank didn't even exist to him. "Hey", Hank called out to him and got their eye contact back. "I asked you a question. Who are you?"

All Hank got back was just another stare competition. Then, the young folk is looking around again. His nostrils widen, his eyes blink. And that's basically the only movement his face did. 

"Got a name?" Hank tried asking again. He was starting to grow quite tired of this already. He didn't like strangers in his home, especially men wearing dresses who didn't know how to talk. One hell of a situation. He should take this man to the nearest town and let the sheriff deal with the questioning part.

The man finally opened his mouth, for a moment just appearing to be in deep thought before any words came out. "Connor", he finally said, slowly looking up at Hank. "My name is Connor."

He had a name now. And it didn't sound like a name of any criminal Hank had seen on those 'WANTED' posters. Not like this Connor even looked like a criminal in the first place. He looked young, acted like he was inexperienced, and his skin was smooth as hell, no scars to be seen. Expect the one by the end of his eyebrow. Hank would have to ask about that later.

"I've got two questions for ya, buddy", Hank started. His finger traced gently over the trigger, his blue eyes giving an intense look. "One, what were you doin' in the desert? And second, why the fuck are you wearing a dress?"

Connor sat there quietly, completely still. It was creepy. "I don't know", came his answer. Hank squinted at him. "Which question did you answer?"

"Both", Connor continued. Once again, that lost look came over his face, his eyes falling down to look at the wooden floor. "I don't remember much."

"Well, what do ya remember?"

Connor suddenly stood up, his small form standing straight, chin held high. Hank pointed the rifle at the man as a warning. But Connor didn't seem too bothered by it. He just took a step closer, and luckily he didn't take a second step because Hank would have shot him if he would have approached him more than that. Connor was giving him an odd look, like he was actually having a difficult time remembering who he was. Amnesia, perhaps? Connor opened his mouth softly. "I think ... I remember being in danger. And then ... I just ran. I wanted to get away."

"Any explanation for the dress?" Hank said, gesturing at the thin fabric. He could see the form of his body but not much else. Hank reminded himself to not look too hard into it, or else he would be the creep here.

Connor looked down, grabbing onto the hem and inspecting the fabric. His thumbs ran in circles, his fingers played with the frill, and then he was lifting his dress up. "Woah, woah, woah", Hank shouted, standing up and grabbing Connor's hand before he was revealing any private parts. "Keep the dress down, Jesus fucking Christ."

"Oh", Connor just said, tilting his head to the side. Hank just sighed deeply. Was he with an idiot, or something? He let go of his hand and moved away from him.

"So? Where did the dress come? You a hooker, or somethin'?" 

Connor thought for a moment. "I think someone put it on me. For fun, maybe. I am not sure."

Hank didn't like it, but it really started to seem like he had taken a man with no memory in. This young boy seemed confused all the time, and he is extremely curious of his surroundings. And he didn't know where he was coming from or where he was going. A doctor was probably needed, but Hank surely as hell was not going to use any money to treat someone other than himself. And who knows what has happened to 'Connor'. Didn't seem like anything good, although so far there were no bruises or other marks in his body. Hank would figure it all out later, when he cared enough.

Anderson tilted his head to the side and inspected Connor a little harder. When he saw that scar - in the shape of a circle - on the man's right temple again, he became quite interested about it. It looked like someone had drawn it there with a knife, or something like that. He leaned in closer and pressed his finger gently over it. "Where did this come from?" he asked, tracing his finger over the scar. Round, round, round. "It looks like ... a barrel of a gun has been pressed down here, real damn hard."

Connor just blinked at him and said the same _'I don't remember'_ once again. Hank moved away and just sighed. He was getting mighty tired of this, so the faster he gets this Connor out of here, the better. Hank placed his rifle, the Winchester model, against his chair and grabbed his own coat. "I'm taking you to the town nearby. But before that, I'll get you some proper clothes."

He walked past the young man who still just stood there, watching his every movement like a predator. Hank opened his wardrobe, an old wooden thing with a door that creaked loudly, and went through the few shirts he owned. He pulled out a button up that was dark blue with some odd white decorations stitched by hand over the collar. He threw it at Connor's direction, making the shirt land over his face.

Connor pulled the piece of fabric down and inspected it, his hands playing with the buttons. "Where did you get this?"

"Stole it from a perpetrator from the East. Didn't fit me, so never used it."

Hank also got a pair of pants for Connor. Something he had worn as a younger, thinner lad. Something he forgot to throw away. Probably because Hank liked keeping things that had memories in them. He tossed it at Connor again and started searching for better options. But Hank didn't have that many pants that could fit such skinny legs. "They will probably be too big for ya, so here's a belt." Hank threw the belt again over to Connor, but he grabbed onto it with quick reflexes instead of letting anything else hit him in the face.

Connor had no damn shoes on. How the hell aren't his feet bleeding from all the running or walking at the desert? Crazy. Hank just shook his head before he left the room, closing the door behind him. That was his sign for Connor to start dressing up.

After he had found a pair of shoes and had started having his morning coffee - a little late this time -, Connor finally came out of Hank's bedroom, looking surprisingly normal. The pants were indeed too big for him and had a few holes over the knees, but the shirt fit him quite nicely. His hair was neatly put in place and his brown eyes were once again scanning his surroundings. Odd fellow. Hank was about to stand up and offer him the only pair of shoes he thought could fit Connor - found from dead man's feet -, but then Connor was stepping somewhere else.

"A dog", he said and crouched down, immediately running his hand down the Saint Bernard's fur. The dog lifted his head, waking up from his nap.

Hank first just blinked wildly. "Yeah. It's a dog", he huffed out. "His name is Sumo. Be nice, Sumo."

Sumo was always nice. He was getting a little old to be mean in the first place. Too tired to pick up fights or run away. Sumo was a great example of man's best friend. Sumo took a good strong sniff of Connor before deciding he was a friend, and his head fell back down against the floor. And then, he was snoring again.

"Alright. Let's get going, then." Hank stood up from his seat and started collecting his things. Connor got up back from the ground, deciding to leave Sumo alone, and walked over to the dusty table, inspecting the pair of shoes Hank had placed on it. He took it as an invitation and sat down on the nearest chair, starting to put them on.

"These shoes don't belong to you", he noted. Hank just stared at him, his hands still focusing on putting his holster over to his hip. "Yeah. They don't."

Connor was giving him a different kind of look. His eyes were begging for an explanation, eager to hear a story behind these damn shoes that now covered his feet. Hank didn't like that look at all. But he wasn't much of a fighter, especially with someone who wasn't looking for a fight in the first place. Anything to destroy the awkward silence between them. "I'm a bounty hunter. If someone ends up dead, I take their property. Later on, I sell it forward, put the dead man's old belongings to a good use."

"Bounty hunter?" Connor repeated.

Hank felt like he was talking to a person who came from the past and had no idea how the modern world worked. "I capture fugitives for a little bounty. Meanin' I go and find a criminal, catch them, take them to jail and get a little cash out of it", Hank explained, starting to finish his packing. "Of course, sometimes people just end up dead. That's why I have some stuff that's not originally mine."

"Isn't that stealing?"

"It's not if the man is already dead. He won't be missing his shoes, shirt or whatever I took from him", Hank said. 

Still, in Connor's eyes taking a dead man's property in order to get money out of it was wrong. But he was starting to understand that Hank wasn't that rich, so maybe his job and this were just his own ways of making a living. Connor felt like he had a lot to learn.

Hank threw his bags over his shoulder and moved out without a word, and almost like a damn dog himself Connor followed him. Hank prepared his horse, getting the saddle put in place and then throwing his belonging over the horse. "Get on", Hank ordered, holding out his hands so Connor could place his foot on them and lift himself over the horse. But instead, he just tilted his head to the side. "Where is it that we're going?"

"I'm taking you to Pride Post. That's the nearest town. Maybe that's where you came from", Hank said. "I sure as hell ain't keeping you here. Ya gotta have some place to go to. Now, get on the damn horse."

Connor decided to obey. He placed his foot on top of Hank's palms, and then swung his leg up and over the horse, taking a seat on the saddle. "Scoot a little", Hank said, climbing up on the saddle himself. Definitely not save to ride like this, both trying to desperately fit onto the saddle, but Hank had no second horse. And Connor was much smaller than he was, so they just barely fit together there.

Hank leaned against Connor's back to grab onto the harnesses and then, they were on the move. To Hank, it was a bit awkward. Connor seemed fucking terrified when the horse started moving faster, cantering towards the nearby city. He was first leaning against Hank's softer body, his hands gripping onto whatever was in front of him. His eyes were looking all around - forward where there soon was going to be a little town waiting for them in the horizon. Then to the sides, where there was just the desert and the mountains. And then behind him, first accidentally looking at Hank, then over at his little cottage that turned smaller and smaller the further they went. Connor could see his dog Sumo sitting on the yard before stomping back inside like he was the guard of the place.

His eyes fell back down on the Indian horse, her white hair flying around in a fast beat. Connor swallowed, and leaned forward a little so he could slide his hands over her neck, touching the white hair with large brown mottles on it - or the other way around. Connor leaned down even more until he could press his forehead against the nape of the horse's neck, his hands running down on the sides. This wasn't so scary after all. Connor decided he liked horses. He could not help but just close his eyes and smile, enjoying the rocking movement and the gentle wind blowing hair over to his face.

Usually Hank knew how to ignore literally anything and everything. But this? Seeing Connor leaned down in front of him, his fucking bottom rubbing against his crotch as they rode towards the sun was too much for him to handle. Hank felt fucking hot. Connor was a young, handsome man, who wouldn't feel hot seeing him? But he wasn't the kind of a partner that could fit together with Hank. Even if he wanted to continue watching Connor's body rocking against him, Hank instead shook his head and forced himself to look forward.

Once they were closer to the city, Hank wrapped his arm around Connor's waist and pulled him back up so the two of them didn't look too odd. Hank didn't want to cause a fucking scene.

\--

"So, you have no memory of your past or how you ended up in the desert?"

"Sadly, no. All I remember is running, and my name - Connor."

Pride Post was a small dying city that the train passed by every Wednesday and Saturday. Since not too many people lived in there, it was one of the most calmest little towns around here. But it was also one of those places that had a limited amount of food, ammo and other supplies. The train did bring them whatever they needed, but there was still that fear that someday the train no longer would stop by their city because it was so small. Pride Post was a mining city near the mountains, but so far not much gold or any other minerals had been found, sadly. Luckily, the cattle ranch nearby provided them their own milk and meat, sometimes even wool from the lambs. The town managed, at least for now.

The small town at least had its own sheriff - Jeffrey Fowler, a man loyal to his word and eager to keep the town safe, even if there was barely any crime going on. The only jobs he got were to help the other towns whenever they had a criminal to take care of, and make sure no one stole bread from the one who sold it. Jeffrey was grateful for his job, anyway.

Jeffrey placed his feet on top of his desk, lighting a thick cigar between his lips. He hummed a little, inhaling and then blowing a cloud of smoke out. "An amnesia case, huh?" Jeffrey asked. Hank simply nodded to him in return. He had tried having Connor look around the city, see if he would suddenly remember anything and realize that hey, he is from Pride Post and just had too much to drink. But nothing. All he had done was to look through windows, stare at people passing by them and pat someone else's horse. Not much progress. And no new memories to be found.

Suddenly, someone slammed their hand against the metallic jail bars and laughed. "Memories are so easy to lose!" a blonde man with wild gashes on the left side of his face shouted, his eyes wide open. He smiled widely when Connor had turned to look at him. Then, he was laughing uncomfortably. Connor wasn't really scared of him, or his scars.

"Ralph, shut the fuck up", Jeffrey called out to him, continuing to smoke his cigar. "You only get out once you've cooled down."

"Ralph doesn't like cooling down", the jailbird jumped up and down a little, holding onto the bars.

Jeffrey sighed. "I'll get you somethin' sweet if ya act nice!"

Ralph immediately turned quiet, moved away from the bars and sat down on his little bed that consisted only of a pillow and a cheap blanket. Then his foot started beating on the ground and he started quietly talking to himself, or to someone he imagined. Ralph wasn't a bad person. Just got too excited sometimes, and ended up breaking property. Or bringing dead rats into houses because to him those were edible food. He just needed some rest.

"Anyhow", Jeffrey Fowler set his feet down and turned to Hank. "I think it's your job now to take care of Connor, until he figures himself out."

"Was afraid you'd say that", Hank muttered, turning to look out of the window. Connor just stood there, not seeming to care what his fate was. "Isn't there any place I could just drop him into?" Anderson insisted, storming back over to the sheriff's table.

"You know very well there is no 'care homes' anywhere nearby, Hank", Jeffrey said, standing up and placing his hands on the table. "Feel free to take him where ever the hell you want, but it's not my business. But I sure fucking hope you would take some responsibility sometimes and, I don't know, help this man out."

Hank seemed offended by that. Connor instead felt awkward by the whole situation. He tried to analyze the conversation, understand what the relationship between these two was but Connor didn't get many results. Especially when Hank stormed off, stopped at the doorway and ordered Connor to come with him. And what else could he do but to follow? He could only think that Hank and Fowler had some kind of a difficult companionship. 

"A fucking shit day."

Hank stepped outside of the sheriff's office all the way to the outside, pocketing his hands into his jacket's pockets. Connor followed after him, not caring much about the odd looks some passerby's gave them. The two of them would be on the town's own newspaper the next morning if this kept up.

"What's your relationship with the sheriff?" Connor asked. Hank ignored his curious look and lit up a cigar, most likely stolen from Jeffrey Fowler because the thing looked like it had been mashed into his pocket in a rush. Connor hadn't even noticed Hank stealing from him. Or maybe it was something he had taken before.

"What's it to ya?"

The begging look Connor gave him made the man release a frustrated sigh. _There was something in those god damn brown eyes, fuck._ "He doesn't like me, that's what. Always tries to make me stop drinking and do the right thing", Hank Anderson muttered, pulling his hat down lower like he was hiding underneath it. "Heh, I think he wants me to be a sheriff, too."

"Why wouldn't you want to be a sheriff?" Connor couldn't help but wonder. To him, it looked like a respectful job. 

"Too much responsibility, not enough fun. I like doin' what I do", Hank replied. It seemed like Hank didn't much care what was right and what was wrong. He just wanted his money from a job well done. So did many others. 

Hank took his cigar into his fingers, rolled it around like it was a gun and ended up dropping it. He cursed and stepped on top of it, rubbing it against the ground until no flames were left. "Anyway, I ain't gonna keep you around. I'm gonna ask if someone is nice enough to offer you shelter."

Hank started walking towards the saloon, leaving his horse to rest by the station where water was offered. After giving the horse one more pat on the side, Connor followed the only person he knew. And trusted.

Jericho was the only place in town that offered alcoholic drinks and entertainment to people. With a few coins, you could even get a bed to sleep in, if needed. The name of their business was written above the door in large letters so you could spot the place from afar, even if the paint was starting to shred away. As they entered the saloon, a strong smell of alcohol and sweat filled their noses and music filled their ears. The place was a little messy, but the lightning was warm and welcoming. The walls had paintings over them - messy, colorful, something that Connor liked looking at. At this time, the pub wasn't too full, but people still seemed to be somewhat enjoying their time, even if the sun was high.

"The usual for you, Mr. Anderson?" a dark skinned man behind the counter shouted over the music. Hank just gave him a strong nod and slowly made his way towards him, zigzagging around the tables and other customers. Connor followed after him a little slowly, inspecting his surroundings. Most of the customers were men, most likely just on their first drinks since no one was shouting or causing trouble. One man seemed to be drunk already, as his head was hanging low and five bottles surrounded him.

Hank seated himself by the bar, got his drink and gave Markus some cash in return before taking a sip. He enjoyed the music for a while - knowing the man playing the piano was named Simon, and the one with the violin was Josh -, before getting Markus' attention. "You got a bed to offer for a man who has no memory?" 

"Yes, if he has money", Markus said, serving up another drink.

"Well, he doesn't."

A sudden hand smacked against Hank's back. "Sorry, boo", North, the lady who was in charge of the place leaned against the counter with a full tray balanced well in her other hand. "No money, no bed. That's the rule."

"Not even for me?" Hank asked with a smirk. North just rolled her eyes, swung her braided hair to her other shoulder and walked away to serve drinks, her wine red dress swinging after her. Some men whistled at her, as they always did, but North paid them no mind. Only a mean glare was given to the men to shut them right up.

Connor seated himself next to Hank and denied any drinks that were offered to him. He didn't feel like drinking. He wasn't as troubled as Hank Anderson was.

"Fuckin' shit, then. What the fuck am I going to do to ya?" the grizzled man mumbled, took a strong sip of his drink, slammed the glass down and turned to look at Connor, apparently his new unwanted friend he was stuck with. And Connor just looked at him with blank eyes, not even bothering to answer. Hank just cursed, shook his head so hard his hair moved over his face, and then swallowed more beer.

"I could be useful to you", Connor said. Hank just drank some more. "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

His glass banged against the counter again. "Well, aren't you just fuckin' desperate", the bounty hunter said, chuckling a little and once again shaking is head like it was his way of saying _'I can't believe this shit I'm witnessing.'_ "Listen, kiddo, I ain't gonna keep you around, even if ya offered your ass for me, alright? So, just get the fuck out and go do somethin' with your life."

Connor was, if it was fair to say, disappointed with the man's answer. The short time they had come to know each other, Connor had become quite fond of his mysterious savior with an obscene tongue and an odd taste in shirt fashion. But he had saved him, offered clothes and so on. So far, Hank Anderson, a simple bounty hunter who seemed to enjoy his alcohol, seemed like the safest person to follow. The best, and the only road to take.

Connor would even call it fate if he believed in such thing.

"Hey, asshole!"

Hank choked on his drink when someone suddenly gave him a strong nudge on the back that made his body collapse forward. His drink flew over his face, wetting his beard and those few strands of grey hair that were always hanging over his face. Some even spilled over one of his favorite - and only - shirts, leaving a wet spot behind. Hank sighed deeply, placing his glass back down on the counter before he would accidentally break it.

"I think you owe me a lil' something", said a large, extremely dirty man towering behind him. Connor just watched, recognizing this man as the only drunk guy at the saloon, apparently woken up from his slumber. He did reek of beer, too, like he had showered in it.

Anderson seemed to just roll his eyes before turning around to face his opponent. "I don't own you anythin', Todd." And with that, Hank casually turned around to continue his drinking, but the so called 'Todd' grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him against the counter. Connor jerked in surprise, standing up from his chair and taking a step back.

"Oh, I think you do", Todd grunted at him. At this point, everyone at the saloon had turned quiet. No more instruments playing upbeat tunes. No more casual chatting. Just curious ears listening in. "You put me in jail the last time we saw each other."

Hank rolled his eyes so hard he almost lost his balance. "The last time we saw each other, you were drunk and causing a fight. Just like now", he said, pressing his elbows against the counter that was poking against his back uncomfortably. Todd didn't seem to like that answer as he grabbed onto Hank's collars and lifted him up into the air, unsuccessfully. 

Todd reminded Connor of ... someone. Someone who he didn't even know that well. But someone who he had seen before.

He didn't like the feeling he got from this man.

Connor landed his hand over the man's shoulder, gripping down hard. "I'd like for you to let go of him", Connor said calmly, much to everyone's surprise. He was twice as smaller as the man picking up a fight, yet Todd still seemed to be making a pained face. And Hank on the other hand was more surprised than ever.

"It's better for you to mind your own damn business", he growled, releasing his grip on the hunter and turning over to the younger man. Connor calmly returned his arms to his sides and just stared, like he was analyzing the man's next move. "Did you not hear me? Mind your own business!" Todd spat over his face, saliva falling past his lips and the strong musk of whatever he has swallowed in the past hour filling Connor's nostrils.

He gave no answer, so the drunken man turned his hand into a fist and made an uppercut, swinging his fist from down below towards Connor's chin. But just before his knuckles could even make contact with him, Connor tilted back just enough for him to miss him. A few surprised gasps echoed in the saloon - A fight in this saloon wasn't anything extremely new, but seeing someone dodge a hit that well made the show much more interesting to watch.

The brunet stood aside, trying to back away from the counter and maybe head outside. He didn't want to break anything accidentally. But Todd wasn't letting him get away so quickly. He jumped closer to him, threw his arm back, squeezed his fingers into a fist. And then swung it forward towards his eye.

Connor's reflexes were fast. He caught Todd's fist into his own hand, stopping the movement of his punch with a simple squeeze. Todd lost his balance, stumbled to get it back and then cursed loudly. Connor squeezed harder, twisted the man's hand back. Todd cried out in pain, trying to pry his arm away but all he could do was to collapse on the ground on his knees. "Let fucking go!" he screamed out, spit falling out of his mouth as he tried to get back standing up. Connor acted faster than Todd could even plan his next attack.

_Crack_

Todd collapsed onto the ground in searing pain, holding onto his now broken hand, screaming until no sound came out of his throat. Connor simply looked down at him, before casually stepping over his body and going back to the counter to sit next to Hank whose mouth was hanging wide open. People were loudly chatting about the scene they had just witnessed, only a few bothering to get up and actually help the injured man to the nearest doctor, even if the injured one tried to pick up another fight on the way out. The chattering got loud very quickly so North placed the empty tray under her arm and clapped her hands together as hard as she could.

"Alright! No more fighting! Play nice or else go outside in the mud", she called out, and as always everyone listened to her like she was the Queen. In a way, she was. Things returned quickly to normal because no one really bothered themselves to care about Todd more than it was needed to.

Hank was still living through that moment, completely amazed by what he had seen. This young man who was more skin and bones than he was actual muscle had just crushed a man's arm so easily. It was like Connor's body was made out of metal. Hank tried to get the other one to talk, but when their eyes locked together, Connor didn't bother explaining himself. He simply turned his eyes towards the blonde man playing the piano and his friend soon joining in with the violin, enjoying the music like nothing had happened at all.

"Quite of a ... devious friend you got there", Markus leaned over the counter, trying to keep his voice low. Hank just took a strong sip and glanced over at Connor again who just gave him a little odd looking smile.

"He sure fucking is", he said, out loud so Connor himself could hear it. But he gave almost no reaction. No proud look in his eyes, no confident grins or ashamed shrugs. Just his eyes meeting with Hank's blue ones and that friendly expression covering his whole face.

Who the hell was this Connor? No one seemed to know that, not even the man himself, but he was strong as hell. Tactical, or at least appeared so. After seeing Connor so effortlessly stop a punch without even blinking an eye, Hank became curious. Real goddamn curious. He needed some answers. And maybe he could get something good out of this.

"Connor." The brunet turned his head around back to him after his eyes had been inspecting the man at the piano again. "Hm?" he hummed as an answer, placing his hands over his lap, his posture straight as it could be. _Who sits like that?_

"Do you know how to handle a gun?" Hank asked. To show off a little, he took his own gun from his holster and rolled it around once in his hands. Connor watched the movement, analyzing the fire arm before he softly shook his head. "I have never tried it. But I believe I'd be a fast learner."

Hank took that as an alright answer. He wasn't the kind of man who took a bodyguard with him or needed any kind of help, but if he could get this kiddo do as much work as possible for a place to stay in, then Hank could have some damn time on his own. Just the way he liked it. He'll see what he will do with Connor. He placed his gun back into his holster with another tricky move.

"Alright, then." Hank took off his hat, ran his hand through his dirty hair and then positioned the hat back over it before he turned to face Connor. "You can stay the night at my place. In return you do whatever the fuck I say, understood?"

Connor gave a simple nod to him, and when offered a drink again, he refused it. A damn baby, he was. What kid of a man refused a beer, especially when Hank was even offering to pay for it? This Connor-man, apparently.

Once Hank was finished with his drink, he thanked Markus, waved at the people playing the music and started heading out with Connor following him like a partner already. On the way out, North gave a wink at Connor who gave no reaction back whatsoever. He didn't even seem to notice it. Hank sure as hell did.

"Okay. Your pants are too big and in shit condition. Let's go get you some proper clothing", Hank said, pocketing his hands. Connor jogged a little to catch up to him. "Where is it that we're going?"

Connor was fucking weird. Hank had come to this conclusion after watching how Connor moved and talked. Always so proper with his words or completely quiet. Good posture, something Hank didn't really know about. Very curious about his surroundings like he has come from another planet. Odd fellow, indeed. Maybe that's what amnesia did.

"A clothing shop, obviously", Hank grunted at him. "I'm being nice just because you could be useful for me. Don't take it for granted."

"Useful?" 

"Yeah. I'm impressed by your strength", he admitted. And Hank left it at that, because he wasn't the kind of man who praised others. And he didn't usually even explain himself and his actions. Thankfully, Connor just smiled at it. No _'thank you'_ , no change of conversation, just accepting silence. Just the way Hank liked it.

Maybe for once in his life he could condone having someone be so close to him.

\--

Simon pressed down a key. A high-pitched tune came out of the piano and echoed for a long while until he finally removed his finger and pressed another key down. He moved his other hand over the keys and pressed a few down, creating a stronger tune. And then, Simon started playing a simple melody that destroyed the silence taking over the saloon.

It was already getting dark outside. North had emptied the place after Todd had stormed back in, his hand patched up and face red. He had flipped a few tables because Hank Anderson and 'his pet', as he called him, weren't there anymore. North had decided to shut the saloon for the rest of the night so they could clean up. 

Simon was taking a well deserved break after mopping the floors clean. The chairs that were still good enough to sit on were over the tables, and the floor was still a little moist from the water. The bucket and the mop rested against the counter for now. Simon needed some music. He needed a break to just think, or empty his mind from everything that was troubling him.

He liked playing piano. It was a difficult instrument to play, and it was something you couldn't carry with you. You had to find the piano where ever you went if you wished to play. And to Simon, playing music was something his heart desired. He was always looking for a way to escape, and music always had the answer.

His time playing at the church was over. Now, he was stuck in a poor saloon, surrounded by inebriated people who didn't even pay attention to the music playing in their ears. 

Only one person seemed to truly pay attention to him and his musical gift.

"Taking a little break, I see?" Markus called out, walking over to him and trying to avoid stepping over the area where Simon had mopped. 

"Did I wake you?" Simon asked, only looking a little over his shoulder before returning his eyes on the piano. He rested his fingers over the white keys, but didn't press them down. "No, not at all. It just sounded really nice", Markus said, slowly making his way over to Simon. He poked the blonde's side a little, gesturing he wanted to sit down on the chair, too. Simon moved to the side, and Markus sat down next to him. Simon bit down onto his lip, still avoiding the man's gaze. He could only focus on the feeling of Markus' body pressing against his.

"Care to play something for me?" Markus asked. Simon turned his eyes on him, surprised by his request.

Markus had beautiful eyes. His left eye was green, but then his right eye was blue. It was like forest and sea meeting each other. Unique. Simon liked unique things. The piano underneath his fingers was unique, too. One key never sounded right, no matter how hard they tried to fix it. Simon had learned to love that imperfect sound it created.

"I'll do my best", Simon said, as humble as always. He positioned his hands and started playing the same song again, now a little slower. Markus seemed to enjoy it. His eyes carefully watched how his fingers moved and his breathing was silent, almost nonexistent. Simon found himself smiling as he let the music swallow him completely. This is why he liked playing so much. The music was his way of escaping from his past and the future, helping him to just enjoy this moment before it would be gone. He forgot about the mopping he was supposed to be doing. He almost forgot about Markus who was right next to him.

A hand suddenly cupped Simon's cheek, turning his head towards his friend sitting next to him.

The music stopped. Simon's eyes flew open.

Markus' lips pressed against his.

It's tender and so sudden that Simon is pulling back before he can even savor the taste. But even if it has went past before it has started, his heart is racing and his body feels warm. "Markus, someone could see us", he muttered quietly, looking around frantically.

"No one is here", Markus promised him. "And I promise I'll tell no one."

Simon doesn't seem convinced. But he also doesn't seem repulsed by the kiss. In fact, his cheeks are red and his wide eyes are looking at Markus - his eyes, then his lips, then even lower. Simon looked curious, maybe even eager but something was stopping him. This wasn't the first time Simon was giving him such a look. Whatever was in his mind seemed to be something Simon was too afraid to act on.

Markus laid his hand on top of Simon's thigh. "Are you against this because of ... God?" Markus wasn't a believer, but from what he had understood, Simon's brother worked for the church and spread the God's word around. _Don't do that, don't do this, or you will be banished to hell_. Who knows why Simon left that life behind. He refused to talk about it.

"No", Simon said to him, his voice quiet as a whisper. "No, I could never be against you."

Markus smiled. "You sure your God is okay with this?" He reached towards Simon with his hand, pulling the necklace from under his shirt to the front. A golden cross. Family gift. Markus rolled his thumb over the shape of it, feeling the tiny edges and the smooth surface.

Simon looked down at the cross in Markus' hand, then back at him. He was stalling a little with his words, but soon found the right ones to say.

"I believe God will ... be okay with one more kiss."

It's not the kind of answer Markus was seeking for, but it was good enough for him. A promise for their possible future. Something he had been chasing for a long time.

Markus leaned in for another one, pressing his lips against his and this time he wouldn't allow it to end so fast. His arm wrapped around Simon and pulled him closer, while his other hand ran through his soft blonde hair. Simon sighed gently into the kiss and did his best to mirror his movements. His hands weren't sure where to go, so he followed his friend's movements and pressed his hand over Markus' cheek. Before he realized it, he was pulling Markus deeper into the kiss.

Simon felt like he was drowning in music again. He had to pull back because he was drowning so well he had forgotten to inhale. Markus just happily chuckled at Simon gasping for air a little.

"You have always been a loyal friend to me, Simon", Markus said quietly. He grabbed onto Simon's hand and locked their fingers together. "But I don't want you to kiss me just because you want to please me."

Simon swallowed nervously and for a long moment just stared at him, trying to get the right words out. "What makes you think I don't want this?"

Markus doesn't answer that. He smiled and pressed their foreheads together, squeezing his friend's hand tighter. 

The rest of the night was quiet.

\--

"Connor! The fuck are you doing?"

Connor was a little startled by the man's scream. After getting himself a pair of pants that fit him perfectly and then running some errands, Connor has been a little in his own world. Especially when he had stopped walking and looked over to his right.

The saloon had a window, and through that window Connor saw something that made him oddly intrigued on the act he witnessed.

Two men he had seen before, - he knew them as Markus and Simon, because Hank had talked about them a little when he had asked -, were pressing their mouths together. Connor registered this as 'kissing'. He had first tilted his head go the side and watched, before trailing his fingers over his own lips.

He wondered how kissing felt like. He wondered why Markus and Simon were kissing. 

He wondered who he could kiss.

Connor turned his eyes back to Hank and started walking towards him. 

"Coming, Hank."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a while to write, but I'm just so happy to be back to writing, despite not being able to sit for long periods of time anymore. Thanks, leg.


	2. Chapter 2

Hank didn't offer Connor a spot to sleep in. Once the night was turning dark and all the work had been done, Hank had stormed over to his own bedroom, shut the door and hit the bed. And Connor was left awkwardly in the kitchen with the large dog sniffing his feet.

The evening together had been quiet. Hank had just told Connor to mind his own business as he took out a bottle and started drinking. That was his usual way of spending a night, apparently. Connor simply watched, tried to get a conversation going with an inebriated man who didn't seem cooperative. Hank was an odd person to talk to. For a moment Connor had understood that Hank accepted him and a possible friendship could bloom between them, but then Hank had showed him the cold side again. He must still have mixed up feelings about Connor. Was it the dress that bothered Hank so much? To be honest, the dress did bother Connor, too.

Connor spend hours just reminiscing, trying to figure out his origin. But his mind was as blank as a piece of a paper. All he needed was some ink, but Connor was running dry.

There was nothing in his mind. Nothing. It was like he was born yesterday. Or then he had truly lost all of his memories.

He doesn't know who he is or where he came from. He doesn't know where he got the dress. He doesn't know why he was running for his life in the desert. Connor doesn't know anything at all about the world around him.

He did know that he has something he should keep hidden. But then he doesn't know why. Everything is confusing.

Connor traced his finger over his temple again. The scar felt old. It didn't hurt. He pressed down harder. Still no pain. But there is that ticklish feeling he got when Hank had touched him.

Hank Anderson. An interesting man that made Connor curious.

When the night had fallen pitch black, Connor found himself opening the bedroom door. He tip toed over to the bed, eyes scanning the sleeping man. Hank snored when he slept. He reeked of alcohol. His hand was hanging off the bed, his fingers almost touching the dusty floor. Hank was hugging the bottle like it was a teddy bear, and he wasn't tucked in under the covers properly.

Connor stood next to the bed quietly. Hank was a well-build man, but he seemed to have extra fat over his stomach. Something Connor didn't have. He reached down with his hand and gently pressed his palm against the curve of Hank's stomach. It felt warm and soft. Connor's hand followed the movement of his abdomen with each inhale and exhale. Connor wanted to slip his hand under the man's shirt and feel his skin - But that would be inappropriate so he kept that as a daydream. 

Connor's other hand moved to touch his own stomach, slipping underneath the shirt. He pressed his hand flat against his abdomen, comparing it to Hank's.

He didn't like how his own stomach felt like.

\--

When it was far past noon, a young woman with a child appeared in Pride Post on horseback. The horse kept going left and right, left and right, like the person riding him wasn't sure where they wanted to go. Or then they were unable to control the movements of their loyal friend. Many people took notice when the woman finally managed to pull and stop the horse from moving any further. She carefully dropped down, but still ended up falling on her knees and ruining the blue handmade dress in mud. She gave no reaction whatsoever. Running her hand through her blondish hair that had been cut extremely short, she got back on her feet and helped the young girl get off the horse. 

She didn't even have to get inside the sheriff's office to meet the man himself. Jeffrey Fowler walked calmly outside, his hands resting inside his pockets. The woman stopped in her tracks and for a moment just stared, holding her daughter in her arms.

"My name is Kara. And this is Alice", she introduced herself. Alice wrapped her arms around her mother's neck and held onto her tightly. 

Kara gave the sheriff a strong, determined look with a hint of sadness hidden behind her eyes. "My husband has been abducted."

\--

Ever since the sun had risen up, Connor had been working for Hank to prove he was worthy enough to keep around and that he could be a helpful hand. But even if Connor fed his horse, fed his dog, washed his dog, gave them both water and cleaned the whole house, Hank still didn't seem too satisfied. It could be the headache making the man all grumpy and easily pissed off. He might just need some rest. Connor hoped that after resting, Hank would finally appreciate his efforts.

When Hank decided to wake up from his small nap, he came to find proper food on the table. A bowl of soup, made out of vegetables and meat, whatever Connor had been able to find. It smelled delicious and even if Hank ate his meal in silence, Connor felt like he had finally succeeded in pleasing the man.

Oh, how wrong he was.

"You know how to cook, how to clean and how to fight ... Is there anything you _can't_ do?" Hank growled at him, tossing the empty, dirty bowl in the middle of the table as he stood up. His tone was ... it was hard to read if Hank was just making conversation, or if he was being cocky.

"I am a fast learner", Connor answered, tying his hands behind his back. "If I just have enough practice, I believe I could --"

Hank sighed so loudly that he shut himself up. "Look, I don't care how many special skills you can have, alright? Just, shut up."

Hank Anderson was an odd man. Hard to read, hard to understand. Connor couldn't understand why the man was still giving him a cold shoulder after all the efforts he had done in order to become his friend. Connor looked down at himself and wondered what was so annoying about him. Or what other reason Hank would be avoiding his companionship. Maybe Hank was jealous of Connor. Sure, Hank Anderson seemed like a skillful man with a few tricks up his sleeve. But he didn't seem to be the kind of a man who cooked for himself, not even anything as simple as soup. 

Maybe Connor should teach him how to cook.

"Maybe I should teach you how to cook", Connor suggested. Hank did not seem pleased by the idea.

"Listen, you little nosy fucker", Hank stormed towards him, almost knocking the chair and the whole table out of his way. Connor backed away until his lower back collided against the counter still covered in carrot peels and the two different knives he had used to cut them. Self-defense mechanism flashed on immediately. "I need no one, I mean _no one,_ teachin' me anything. Especially someone who showed up in a dress and doesn't even know their own past!"

Hank was dangerously close to him. The bulge of his stomach was almost pressing against Connor's. His eyes kept traveling down to look at it with curiosity, but he always brought his gaze back to Hank and his unique facial features. Hank scoffed at him, rolling his eyes a little before he leaned forward. His hands moved to Connor's each side and grabbed onto the edge of the counter, making the younger man tilt back. Connor just stared, watching how the man moved closer to him. Connor tried analyzing the meaning behind this. Maybe Hank tried to appear threatening with not much success.

"You think you're so clever, huh?" Hank said in a much lower tone. He tilted his head to the side, his hair pressing gently against his shoulder like a curtain. Hank's hair looked nice when it was free. 

Connor didn't answer him. He kept his hands firmly on his sides and looked at him silently. Hank just blew some air out of his mouth, making those few strands of hair in front of Connor's forehead swing around. "And now you got nothing to say. Got scared?" Hank made a proud smirk, revealing the tiny gap between his two front teeth.

"I'm not scared", Connor insisted.

"No?" Hank tilted his head to the other side and leaned even closer. Somehow he still managed to keep the tiniest distance between their bodies. "Then why are you frozen?"

Connor doesn't know how to even answer that. He once again just looked straight into Hank's blue eyes. 

Hank looked down. Not all the way down to the floor or even down to Connor's chest. His eyes fell down just a little, focusing on Connor's lips, before they quickly moved back up. Connor blinked strongly.

The peculiar scene happening between them was completely taken away by the sounds coming from outside. A horse neighing loudly, hooves stomping against the sandy ground. And once the sound quieted down, someone jumped off their horse and started calling out for Hank. Or, more like calling out for a 'drunk asshole'. Hank cursed under his breath and moved away from Connor, heading towards the door and opening it.

"The fuck is it, Reed?" Hank asked, leaning against the doorway, placing his thumbs under his belt. A friend of his, or an old friend anyway, stepped over to him, tilting his hat a little. He was wearing just washed clothes - or so Hank detected because Reed was usually covered in some kind of dirt -, with a red wildrag around his neck and some other rag in his back pocket. He leaned over to his left side, lifting his chin, chewing on a bundle of wheat head.

"Sheriff wants to see ya", Gavin Reed, a cowhand that had his own cattle ranch nearby Pride Post informed him.

"Playin' messenger again, I see", Hank muttered, mostly to himself. Connor slowly walked up behind him, listening in to the conversation. "Why does he want to see me, again?"

Gavin doesn't first answer the question, because his eyes are focused on the young man behind Hank. He just stared for a long time, so long that even Hank ended up staring Connor. And Connor just tilted his head a little. "Didn't mean to bother you and your little hussy", Gavin snickered. 

Hank wasn't too pleased of his comment, but he was too goddamn tired to start a fight with this man. He has already yelled enough for today. "What's your business, Reed?"

"Oh, yeah, right", Gavin scratched the back of his head. "Sheriff wanted to see ya."

"Already got that. Why?"

"Because he needs to see you." Gavin placed his hands over his hips and rolled his eyes. "Look, he gave me no details on his date plans. Just go talk to him to find out. It seemed _very_ important."

Hank cursed again under his breath, but did as he was told. He held up a finger before moving inside to get his stuff - jacket, weapons, whatever. He always packed himself ready for an adventure, even if he was simply going for a quick visit to the town. Who knows what would happen.

Connor stepped outside and moved to greet the new man. Gavin was shorter than he was. He hadn't shaved in a while. He had a strong scar over his nose. And despite looking and smelling like he had washed himself this morning, he still appeared dirty somehow. Maybe it was his messy hair that was sticking against his forehead.

"Hello. My name is Connor", he introduced himself. Gavin took off his hat and waved it around to get some cool air blown against his face. "Well, hi, Connor", he chuckled. "I'm Reed. Gavin Reed."

Gavin's eyes moved up and down the other one's body. The straw of wheat between his lips was spat out onto the ground, then stepped over. "So, how much are you?" Gavin asked, sneering widely, stepping a bit closer and inspecting Connor like he was the finest weapon build in the West.

"Excuse me?"

Gavin rolled his eyes like he was talking to an idiot. "How much to get in bed with ya?"

Connor didn't quite understand the meaning of that question. And he wasn't sure what in him made people think that Connor was something you used money on. "Sorry, but I only work for Hank Anderson", was the best answer Connor managed to give him. After all, Connor had no desire to work for anyone else anyway. Even if Hank was unpleasant, he had his own aura that he wanted to get to know better. And Hank was the one who had saved him.

"Oh, shit. You're loyal to him? Damn", Gavin said. He immediately took a large step back and held his hands up as a way to apologize. "Never thought Anderson would get someone. Especially someone as pretty as you."

Once again, Connor wasn't quite sure what that meant. So, he just smiled and nodded.

Gavin didn't get to ask any more personal questions when Hank was coming out again, heading towards his horse. "You know what to do, Gavin", he muttered on his way. "Take Sumo with ya."

"Uh-huh", Gavin said in return, kicking the ground. "And how long do I gotta feed the fuckin' mutt?"

"As long as it's fuckin' needed. And Sumo ain't a 'mutt'."

Hank gestured Connor to come over to him, and with the help of his hands once again Connor climbed on the saddle. Hank soon followed him, moving to sit behind him and grabbing the harnesses to be able to control the horse. They slowly walked past Gavin who whistled at them. Hank gave him a middle finger in return.

"I ain't taking the dog until you pay me", Gavin insisted. He so hard tried to pretend that taking care of Sumo would be an unpleasant task, but it was obvious the man liked dogs. The moment Sumo walked outside and sat down next to Gavin, the cowboy was immediately petting him.

Hank sighed and buried his hand into his pocket, grabbing one of his small bags full of money - Hank never kept all of his riches in the same place, in case someone came to rob him. He took out some coins and tossed them at the ground, smiling when Gavin dropped down on his knees to pick them up. "You'll get more once I'm back."

If Hank just knew how soon he would be back.

"Alright, jeez", Gavin grunted. "Anythin' else I should know?"

Before he can even get an answer to his question, Hank and Connor are already leaving, their horse kicking her front legs in the air before starting to canter away. This time, Connor kept his back straight, and Hank wasn't sure how okay he was with the closeness. Thanks to the movement of their ride, Connor kept swinging back and forth, gently banging against Hank's body.

Connor smelt incredibly nice.

Hank squinted at his own thoughts, thinking he was a real damn idiot for thinking something like that.

\--

Hank Anderson greeted the young woman and her daughter with a made up smile and a tip with his hat before getting right into business, with Connor following after his tail. Jeffrey Fowler told them the same story he had just listened at least twice.

Kara lived near the cattle ranch with her husband Luther and their adopted daughter Alice. They had their own little 'farm' - that's what she called it, but based on the information, she only had some chickens and a horse. Luther was one of the people mining in the mountains in hopes of finding riches, and in his free time he even helped out at the cattle ranch to provide food for his family. There had been a problem early this morning when a man had come and take Luther away with force.

"And who was this guy?" Hank asked. At this point, he was already leaning against the sheriff's table like he was already tired of standing. Connor, instead, was listening but his eyes were focused on one of the cells. The guy named 'Ralph' he had seen yesterday was no longer in his cell.

Kara stayed quiet for a while, holding her daughter in her lap. "... He called himself Zlatko", she said quietly. Alice immediately burst into tears and Kara quickly hugged her, caressing the child's hair in hopes of calming her down.

"Zlatko? You mean Zlatko Andronikov?" Hank repeated.

"We had made a deal with him", Kara mumbled. She was obviously holding back tears, but she still held her chin high to show she had not lost hope. "We were in desperate need of help, so Zlatko offered us some gold in return of a favor. We didn't know what kind of a favor he was talking about, so we accepted it, thinking it wouldn't be anything too big. We needed the money that badly."

Kara moved her hand over Alice's head again and again, shushing her until the child had calmed down. "He finally came back this morning, asking for my hand. When I refused, he pulled out his gun."

Alice buried her face against her mother's neck.

"No one was hurt, but he and his men ended up taking Luther away. He said that he will free him if I marry him, but .. I don't want to. So, I came here for help."

_Zlatko Andronikov,_ Connor repeated that name in his mind. He wrapped his fingers around the prison bar, staring at the wall. 

_He has heard that name before._

Hank looked over at Fowler who was already offering him a piece of brownish paper with a name and a drawing of the man. Strong beard, brown unwashed hair. Tired looking eyes, missing teeth, large kind-of-pointy nose. Under the drawing there was a large 'WANTED' text, then the usual 'dead or alive' written underneath it, and a -- woah, that's a lot of money.

"Let me guess. You want me to find Zlatko and get her husband back?" Hank asked. He folded the poster twice before pocketing it inside his jacket.

"It's a big job, Hank. You know how hard he is to catch", the sheriff said. "If you catch him, you'd make the world a better place."

Hank wasn't into playing hero. He had heard of Zlatko fucking Andronikov before - he is the usual delinquent with his whole damn gang always helping him to get what he wanted. Zlatko has robbed so many people you would think he is buried in riches and would retire already, but no. He was still in action, moving like a damn ghost in broad day light, stealing more and more. But it seemed like Zlatko was now into something more than just stealing. Lately, people have gone missing. And that was news. It was believed that Zlatko, or sometimes just the men who worked for him, were taking in hostages for whatever reason. Maybe as a threat, or to get someone in a bigger deal with them. It didn't happen that often, but there were a few missing people posters now on the walls, and it was sure they had been taken away because of Zlatko. Who knows if they were even alive anymore. Who knows where they were if they were alive.

Anderson sighed and stood away from the sheriff's desk. "No. It's too big for me to deal with", he mumbled. 

"Hank, no sheriff or any other force of justice has been able to catch this guy", Jeffrey said. 

"Then why do you think I could get the job done?" Hank growled, his hand reaching into his pocket to take out his flask number one.

Jeffrey slammed his hands against the desk and stood up. "Because for fuck's sake, you've done a real damn good job before!" he shouted. Hank gave him a surprised look. He wasn't used to getting compliments, even if they weren't that direct. He was used to getting yelled at, though.

"This job needs someone who knows how to blend in. Someone, who knows how to work in the shadows and make their move quietly, to pretend they are the bad guy and so fucking on. And I am running out of rope", Jeffrey Fowler said, slowly seating himself back down. "You're my best bet, Hank. I've got nothing else."

Hank's eyes fell down onto the dirty floor for a moment, then up at the mother and her young child, still looking so frightened in her lap. How the hell can Hank deny this job when there was a woman in need present? He would look like an asshole if he rejected this. "Ugh. Fine", Hank muttered. "But I ain't doing this alone. It's suicide."

"I'll join you."

Hank didn't mean to laugh so hard at that. Connor, helping him to catch this big criminal? This skinny man who had no memories? What a joke. Now, Hank had seen what Connor can do. He knew how to defend himself. But that still wasn't enough. What if Connor didn't know how to use a weapon? Maybe the kid had no idea how to fight. Even Gavin who was just a damn expert on cows would be a bigger help to him than this man who seemed to have no idea what was going on most of the time.

"No, thanks", Anderson said. "You probably don't even know how to handle a gun."

"Then teach me", Connor insisted. He looked serious, completely underwhelmed by the situation at hand. He didn't much care if the trip was going to be dangerous, or if he had no skills to be a proper part of it. Zlatko Andronikov was a familiar name to him. Connor didn't know where he had heard that name, or if his mind was playing tricks on him, but he could almost hear Zlatko's voice in his head. And that had to mean something. So, he was going to go and look for this man, with or without Hank's help. 

Hank Anderson sighed, removing his hat just to run his hand through his hair, before placing it back on his head. "You won't fare well", he said, stepping closer to him. Kara and Alice stared at them quietly, unsure if they felt grateful that someone was going to help them, or scared because these two men were their last hope.

"I think I will learn fast", Connor said. He wondered why Hank thought Connor couldn't be as good as he was. Hank was a decrepit man, quite often inebriated based on his drinking habits, so he couldn't be the best man in the whole west. Connor was just a man with amnesia who had appeared in front of his house only wearing a velvety dress. Connor was more than the dress he had been wearing.

"A man with no past and a habit of wearing dresses won't know how to help me", Hank muttered. Well, there came the dress argument again.

"Hank", Fowler muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Just take the kid with ya. Show him how it's all done. He's got nowhere else to go."

Hank growled like a wolf, disappointed. He seemed to think this was a deplorable situation to be in, because he kept pacing around in circles, cursing under his breath about 'always working alone', and 'not wanting to work with an inexperienced' because he was 'no teacher'. He did end up giving in at the end, because Hank was old and tired. And he never fought with his friends.

"Alright, miss", Hank said, turning towards Kara. She looked up at him, blinking strongly. "We'll walk you home. And then, me and --", Hank sighed deeply, "-- me and Connor will go look for Zlatko."

\--

Kara and Alice lived in a dilapidated cottage between the ranch and the mountains. There were more green plants around their home, even grass on the ground unlike over at Hank's place that was build in the middle of nothing. It was quite warm once they reached their home as sweat was running in rivulets down Hank's back. Connor seemed unbothered by how vehemently the sun was shining today.

Hank and his stupid new partner Connor looked around the house for possible glues - maybe some kind of a hint that could lead them towards Zlatko's hiding place because let's face it, the man was like a ghost, so they needed all the help they could get to locate him. But after searching the house for over an hour, Hank came to the conclusion that nothing had been left behind. All he could figure out that there had been a fight when Kara's husband Luther had been taken away. Apparently, Luther was a real big guy. 

As a thanks for their help, Kara started cooking them some food, mostly chicken and eggs since those were the two things she raised. Alice was offering them bread they had baked two days ago already, and Hank happily accepted whatever was offered him because he was feeling ravenous. Connor didn't eat much, just waited for Hank to fill his belly up until they were ready to leave.

Once Hank and Connor were back on the move, they at least got to borrow Kara's horse. So no more awkward moments of riding the same horse together. No more weird day dreams about it either, hopefully.

They first started heading towards the horizon, over to the direction where the bandits had ran to with the man named Luther, and God knows how long they were just riding without seeing anything. Just the mountains on their side, then the grass disappearing and turning into hard ground, the sun thankfully starting to hide behind the clouds.

At the second hour of slowly walking with their horses, Hank whistled and guided them to move more towards their left, and soon a small lake appeared into their vision. A perfect spot for a bath, and a drink if you were that desperate. But there was also something else that had caught Hank's eyes. Some rocks and a part of a long dead tree that had been laid on its side formed a circle, and in the middle of it there was an old campfire, rocks and branches put together. Some kind of clothing had been left over one of the larger rocks, and a large amount of bottles was laying all around. Seemed like someone had stayed here.

Hank stopped his horse, jumped off and then roped the horse down onto a pointy rock - not securely enough, which bothered Connor, but it seemed like Hank trusted his horse. As Connor was getting down from his horse, Hank was starting to pick up all the bottles and placing them over the tree trunk in a clear line.

"Aren't we supposed to catch Zlatko?" Connor shouted over at him. The grizzled man shushed him. "Our job is confidential, Connor", Hank said. "If you keep shouting like that, our cover will be blown."

Connor understood that. He did. He just didn't understand why he couldn't talk about it since no one was around to listen in.

Connor slowly walked over to Hank who was done placing the bottles in the way he liked. Hank then turned over to him, sighed like he didn't want to do what he was about to do, and then he pulled out his pistol. "Here", he said, offering the firearm to Connor. A little hesitantly, the younger man took the gun into his hand, inspecting it. Colt 45, also known as 'Peacemaker'. Six chambered. Handy, easy to carry around, not too heavy. He quite liked it.

Hank grabbed the man by his shoulders and guided him to take a few steps to the side so the shooting range he had made was in front of Connor. "Now, I want you to shoot those bottles down, Connor", Hank said, right into his ear. It made Connor feel ... weird. Something was drumming against his chest and his stomach felt tight. 

Hank reached over to grab onto Connor's arm and made him point towards one of the bottles. He guided Connor's fingers over to the right places, showed him how to do it and then helped him aim correctly. "I want you to focus, 'cos I want no bullets wasted", Hank said, his deep voice ringing in Connor's ear drums. His body was pressed against Connor, which was unnecessary, but there he was anyway, breathing against Connor's neck.

"Stand straight", the bounty hunter advised him like he was the master at this - in a way he was, Hank did have years and years of experience. His large hand placed itself on Connor's waist, the other hand resting under his elbow as some sort of support. Connor inhaled air strongly and straightened his back, his eyes focusing on the bottle.

His temple hurt a little. Hurt. That was the word Connor would use to describe the odd feeling his body had.

"And then, shoot when you're ready", Hank almost whispered before taking a few steps back, giving the other one some space. 

Connor fired immediately. The bullet flew right through the bottle, making it shatter into tiny pieces. He wasted no time to point more to the right where another bottle was waiting for him, and he shot again. Then again, and again, and again, until each bullet had hit a bottle. 

He only lowered the gun once the silent echo of the shot disappeared and the sound of glass breaking was only a memory. With almost no change in his expression, Connor turned towards Hank and offered the gun back to him. Completely unable to say anything, Hank took the gun back to himself and just continued staring with his mouth locked open. No bullets wasted, just like he had asked.

_Who the fuck is this Connor?_

\--

They ended up spending the night by the fireplace, two sad looking blankets placed on the ground near the burning fire. Hank was eating the bread Kara had given him, drinking from his flask number two. He would need to refill his flasks once they reach the next town. Instead of sitting on a rock that had been pushed there just so someone could have a seat, Connor was sitting on the ground cross-legged with one of the blankets underneath his bottom.

The two of them didn't talk that much because Hank had his mouth full of food and booze, while Connor's eyes were fixated on the campfire. It was like he had never seen fire before. Or, well, he has just forgotten what fire looked like again. When it was dark, the fire made Connor's face look a little orange, and his eyes glimmered from the way the flames danced around. It was quite pretty, if Hank was honest. Seeing someone who was so damn curious about simple fire was ... nice. It was nice. Hank coughed a little to collect himself back to the real world.

"Are any memories awakening in you, Connor?" Hank asked, looking over to the lake. He could see the reflection of the sky over the surface. Hank closed his eyes for a moment and just listened the water move past them, swinging against the shore.

He expected the younger of the pair to shake his head, but instead Connor nodded. "Zlatko Andronikov. I feel like I've heard that name before."

"Well, he is a pretty big name. I would be surprised if someone hadn't heard of him", Hank muttered. He reached for his pocket and pulled out the 'wanted' poster of the said man. "Do you feel like you've seen this face before?"

Connor looked at the poster for a long moment before he shook his head. "I'm ... not sure."

"Well, that's okay."

Silence fell upon them once again. Connor was still staring at the fire, almost not blinking, enjoying the warmth and the sound the wood made as it cracked and burned. Hank, instead, took another sip from his flask before setting it down. The horses were doing good. Hank was doing good. He had eaten well, and in the morning Hank could wash himself up. It seemed safe enough to sleep. So, maybe he will --

"Hank, why are you a bounty hunter?"

And there comes the conversation starter, something Hank had hoped to avoid. He relaxed back against his rocky seat and looked over the campfire at Connor. "Because it's easy money. At least for me", Hank tried to answer the question shortly so he could hit the bed. Or hit that sorry blanket on the ground.

"Why aren't you a sheriff?" Connor asked with a curious look. "You seem to have the skills for it."

Hank chuckled at his comment and took another sip. He didn't bother answering him first, but once he brought his flask back down from his lips, Connor was still looking at him. He had pretty eyes, even if Hank was looking at them from afar. Connor also had a nice pair of lips, especially when they were parted just a little bit, just like that. Fuck, Hank must be drunk for thinking like this.

He shook his head a little, taking his hat off and setting it on the ground, not caring if it would get dirty or not. "I, uh, used to be a sheriff", Hank confessed, drawing a star over his chest, because he actually used to wear one there. That was easier to say than he expected. Hank never opened up to anyone, not even his friends that have left him a long time ago. Must be the drink. Or then he just feels comfortable talking to Connor, a clueless person who probably won't stay with him longer than it's needed.

"Oh. Why did you stop being a sheriff?" Connor asked, pressing his knees against his chest.

Hank swallowed strongly. "Drank too much", he answered. "I wasn't fit for the job anymore."

Hank took another sip from his flask. A stronger one. "Why not?" Connor asked, like he didn't quite get the memo. Hank closed his flask, deciding he has drank enough for tonight, and buried it into his pocket. "Because a sheriff has to be sober, and they can't be drinking during work hours. And sheriff always has work hours, never any free days. Just not my kind of a job."

He stood up and walked over to the free blanket, sitting down on it with a low grunt. "That's why I'm a bounty hunter. I do the job if I feel like it. I get enough money from it. And I get to drink and relax while I'm on it. Fits for my style." Hank then proceeded to lay down, his face turned up towards the sky. Connor stared at him for a moment, his fingers fidgeting a little.

"Why do you drink so much?" Connor asked. 

"... For reasons", the man grumbled as an answer before he closed his eyes.

Connor decided to not comment on that. It was Hank's life. Connor didn't want to force the man to talk more than he wanted. Besides, he could tell Hank wasn't up for more talking. He decided to follow the man's lead and laid down on his own blanket.

Connor felt thankful the fire wasn't right between their faces. Laying like this, he could just see the side profile of the hunter, his shaggy beard and hair all messy yet still so soft looking. Connor had a strong urge to touch the man's hair, for some reason. 

He watched Hank for long, inspecting how the man's face slowly relaxed and how his breathing became more obvious. His stomach and chest raised high together, then fell back down. At some point, Hank's mouth opened a little and quiet snoring came out of him. Oddly beautiful. Connor couldn't quite explain why he was so fascinated by him.

He laid there for long, simply watching Hank, trying to understand why his chest felt so heavy.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Connor's eyes open, the sky is no longer dark but the area still remained quiet. The fire has died hours ago and the sun's been shining against his face for who knows how long. When Connor sat up, he first noticed that Hank wasn't sleeping anymore. It was a good sign. It meant he was keeping track of time and was still going strong for the mission, instead of snoozing away with a strong hangover. There was something laying on top of his blanket that was now a little bit covered in sand. A pile of clothes, his trusty flask, hat and his two guns - Colt 45 and Winchester. But no Hank Anderson.

The two horses both seemed alright, sniffing the ground and kicking the sand with their tails swinging around. Connor turned his eyes over to the pond of water, the light illuminating so strongly against the surface that it looked like the lake was glistering like the stars during the night.

And then there was Hank, basking in the sun with his skin exposed, only his lower body hidden beneath the surface of the water.

Connor could not help but stare. He didn't even feel weird for staring. Hank was oddly beautiful. Now, he had a rugged surface, but Connor had grown to be quite fond of it. And now seeing his naked form, - the curve his spine made, the bulge of his stomach Connor could see when Hank turned just a little more to his left and the multiple scars replicating themselves over his skin -, made Connor feel giggly. He smiled and watched as the bounty hunter pressed his palms under the water and then brought them up to his hair, massaging his fingers down against his scalp before repeating the action.

Connor considered himself to be a virtuous person - He had high moral standards, and he knew watching someone like this was definitely not okay. But the more he inspected the form Hank was build with, the harder it was to look away. His imagination was running wild in seconds, and he had no idea why. His eyes focused on the rigid surface of Hank's hands, his ruddy face, his soggy hair pressed against the sides of his face. A tongue stroked over Hank's bottom lip as one of his hands traveled over his armpit, and --

Their eyes met.

Connor recoiled and quickly turned his gaze somewhere else, feeling extremely ashamed of himself for staring at someone for so long. He could feel the awkwardness that would follow after that event.

The water had stopped splashing for a second, but soon it continued again, making it clear Hank continued washing himself. And Connor continued minding his business. Once Hank was slowly coming out of the water, Connor turned his back to the man and pretended to do something else - And that ended up drawing circles and other random shapes onto the sand.

Hank Anderson fumbled with his belt a bit, trying to forget what had just happened. He swore that the young lad had been watching him. But why in the hell would he be staring at a man like him? The kiddo was a damn weirdo, didn't know shit about nice behavior - not like Hank himself was the best example of it. Fucking Connor and his stupid pretty brown eyes watching Hank wash himself. What a strange man.

He tried to ignore it all as he put the rest of his clothes on, every now and then eyeing at the younger man who was still staring at the ground, trying to bury his fingers in the hard sand, maybe even build his own damn castle or anything that would make it look like he was busy. Hank ignored him until he was dry and fully clothed, and then ignored him more as he was preparing to leave. For a moment, Hank was already about to get on his horse as a sign for Connor to finally get his bottom up off the ground, but then he stopped. Instead, Hank decided to move back down from the horse and stomped over to Connor.

"If you're really gonna do this mission with me, you're gonna need your own gun", Hank muttered. He stopped in front of Connor and waved his hand a little as a gesture for the lad to get up. Connor slowly stood and just stared as Hank removed the holster from his waist. "You're gonna borrow mine for now."

He leaned closer in premeditated movements, trying to not touch Connor too much as he wrapped the holster around his waist instead. But at one point his arms did almost wrap around Connor's small form, and they were so close. So close that Hank had to swallow the lump in his throat to calm himself the fuck down. This stupid clueless attractive man was fucking messing with him, and Connor didn't even do anything. He just stared, blinked, smiled just a little. Hank could barely ignore it.

Connor smelled nice, even if he hasn't showered properly.

When Hank finally pulled back, he put a lot of distance between the two of them and just looked at his partner. _Partner? That comfortable already?_ The holster didn't look too bad on Connor. But it still didn't seem to fit Connor - Maybe Hank just didn't see him handling a gun, for some reason. Connor looked like a damn farm boy.

"Well, it ... it looks good", Hank said. Evident enjoyment spread all over Connor's face. He seemed proud of himself for looking good with the holster, smiling so widely that his teeth were visible to the eye. Hank didn't like that smile. He just grunted, regretting for giving a compliment to this idiot. 

Hank reached for one of his flasks and took a quick sip from it, only to notice that it was already emptied. "Fuck. We gotta go to the nearest city so I can fill this up", he muttered, turned around and headed for his horse, Connor following after him.

"We do have a 'mission', Hank", Connor reminded him. He stopped by his horse and looked at Hank, like he was asking for his aid again. Silently, Hank walked over to him and with his hands started guiding Connor to climb on the horse on his own, while his mouth focused on talking about something else. 

"Yeah, I know. If we do find a city, we can ask about Zlatko, in case anyone has seen him", Hank said, giving Connor one last push to get him on the horse before he went to take a seat on his own saddle. "Besides, I need something to drink or I'm going crazy during this fucking mission."

Hank really didn't seem to like this particular job. Connor understood why. Not even a man like Hank wanted to endanger his life trying to catch a criminal with a whole group of delinquents on his side. Connor would like a drink, too.

The next city they came across was a lot smaller than Pride Post, but the ambience was quite the same. People were as curious as ever to see unknown people enter their tiny little town. Some were scared - Hank could see a mother pull her two children back into the house, away from their sight. Everyone who had been on the street quickly walked out of their way, stood still and just stared. It was like they were trying to not anger the two of them. It was strange, stranger than Connor was. There was something about this place that kept the people standing on their toes and looking over their shoulders. Something was off.

But without much care in the world, Hank stopped in front of a bar, a tiny little place with a counter and only two tables to sit by. He told Connor to wait outside while he would go in, order a drink and then refill his flasks. Maybe even get a bottle with him. Connor didn't mind waiting. He had two horses to pet.

Half an hour passed and Connor had become impatient so he walked into the bar only to find Hank downing his second glass of whatever beverage he had ordered. All of his flasks were still at the table, appearing to be just filled up since drops of alcohol surrounded them. Connor just stood there, watching as Hank waved his hand around, telling a story to the man behind the counter who seemed actually interested enough to listen. "And then --", Hank hiccuped mid-sentence, "-- then this fucker wants to join my adventure. Ya know, a tiny man who had just turned up to my house in a damn night dress of some sort."

Connor would roll his eyes right now but he was too polite to show any kind of annoyance. Once again, Hank was talking down about him, and that damn dress. Even Connor doesn't know why he had it on. He doesn't even have any memories from before he met Hank. Why is this man stuck to that one detail so much?

His question got an answer after Hank had asked for a third drink and took a strong sip from it. He banged the glass against the counter and chuckled. "But I gotta say, the dress fit him like a damn glove."

"Heh, I bet it did", the bartender chuckled out. He then gestured Hank to turn around. "Say that to your little friend."

Hank wasn't that drunk. But he was far gone just enough to become real damn clumsy when he noticed Connor standing so close to him. He stumbled, standing up and kicking the chair down, completely embarrassed. Hank is making the best facial expression Connor had ever seen. His teeth are bared, brows pressed together and slightly upward, and his cheeks are going red. Most likely from the heavy drinking. Hopefully for something else, too.

"Shit, fuck, fuck off", the bounty hunter spat out, regaining his posture slowly. Connor just gave him a tiny smile, tying his hands behind his back. Now he knew why Hank talked about the dress so damn much. Now Connor had something to fight back with. He wasn't the teasing kind, but who knows, people change ...

"Hank, I thought we had business to do", Connor said calmly to him. "Drinking right now is probably not the best way to approach our suspect."

"One, Zlatko Andronikov is not a suspect. He is guilty and he is my job", answered Hank who stepped closer to him and started collecting his belongings - all his flasks being stuffed into his pockets. The man then grabbed onto the bottle with one finger straight, pointing at Connor. "Two, I'm the boss here. I say when we move and so on."

As stubborn as always. But so was Connor, lucky for him. "Alright. Shall we continue our investigation?"

Hank hated how professional that sounded. It was no investigation. It was straight up arrest. But Hank was too damn tired to really start fixing every little issue Connor made. "Fine, fine. We'll go. But only if you say 'fuck'."

"I beg your pardon?" Connor raised his eyebrows high. Hank stepped closer to him, his arm canting against the counter's edge.

"You heard me. Say 'fuck' for me, Con."

Connor silently stared at him, slowly progressing the man's request. Once he had relaxed, he lowered his shoulders and sighed deeply. "... Fuck." 

It came out incredibly forced, but strong and straight. And it made Hank smile so wide the gap between his teeth was visible. He seemed extremely amused over a single word. "Alright, let's go then", he said, tapping Connor on the shoulder before heading out of the door. Connor blinked a few times before smiling at himself a little.

_Hank liked it when I sweared._

Once Hank had sobered up a bit more (and all of his drinks had been left in his bags that their horses protected), they started walking door to door like they were a pair of preachers declaring God's word or so on. But instead of talking about the great story of the Bible, they asked questions about the man they were after. Sadly, not too many people knew who Zlatko even was. Some of them had heard the name before, some had seen the posters around. Some just slammed the door right into their faces, shouting at them to leave and never come back. Hank was used to hearing that. At least one person was nice enough to talk to them for more than a minute, but all they said was the fact that some men had come here, stolen some goods and left. And then they refused to talk any more than that. Not really a lead.

The whole town seemed like a dead end and after knocking on so many doors Hank's knuckles started bruising, he was calling it a day. He started stomping towards their horses, already opening one of his flasks. But before he could swallow anything down his throat, Connor grabbed his wrist and made him lower his hand. _Wow._ Connor actually managed to stop Hank from taking a sip. He indeed was stronger than he looked like.

"Maybe save it for later, Hank. You've drank enough today", the younger of the pair said, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around Hank's wrist. Hank stopped walking just so he could compare their hands. Connor had soft looking hands. Skinny fingers, pale skin, a little bony. His wrist was so damn tiny compared to his. His entire hand was tiny compared to Hank's. 

Hank lifted his head up slowly, realizing that he's staring for too long. And he's way too close to Connor for his own liking. He swallowed strongly and pulled back, burying his flask into his pocket. "Yeah, yeah. Got it", Hank muttered, starting to continue his way towards their horses so they could leave this sorry excuse of a town behind them.

Expect leaving the town was a bit more difficult than they had expected. A figure of a person moved to stand in front of them, only about 15 steps away, and they raised their firearm. Aiming at Hank's head, he pulled the trigger but missed because his arm was all shaky, literally trembling so hard the bullets inside the chamber banged against the walls. Hank had been real lucky, reacting fast enough to move out of the way _and_ to have someone with a shit aim trying to assassinate him. He grabbed Connor by the shoulders and started pushing him towards the closest door, quickly jumping inside the building for safety.

"What the fucking fuck?!" Hank Anderson growled, taking out his rifle in clumsy movements and quickly pointing it at the door. Everything was silent. Too silent. Hank slowly backed away from the door, Connor following his lead as he always did. Hank quickly looked over at his partner and moved a finger over his mouth, but sadly Connor did not get the hint when he asked: "Who was that?"

"How the fuck should I know?" he growled back at him. "He was wearing a hat every man wears around here! Besides, I couldn't see his face because I was rather busy trying to not get shot in the head."

Connor mouthed a small 'sorry' before looking around. It appeared that they had entered the house of a cordwainer, but the owner himself was nowhere to be seen. Shoes were placed on the shelves, on the ground and on the counter behind their backs. Tools were hanging on the wall and a small painting of three generations making shoes together was hung near the door. Near the large open window there were slippers and boots on display with cheap prizes, and --

The person who had tried to shoot them appeared behind the glass, peering inside the shop. A large brown hat over his head, a red dirty scarf covering his face. Appeared to be a young man that could blend in easily. Hank pointed his rifle at him and pulled the trigger. The glass broke into thousands of pieces, and the next time he opened his eyes the man was gone. At this point, Connor finally decided to pull out his own gun, too, pointing it towards the door with both of his hands holding onto the firearm. Hank decided to not comment on that.

Slowly, the door was opened and a man stepped inside, his gun still held high. But something was wrong with his arm. It was twitching, then motionless, and then twitching again. Every now and then, the man's head would quickly tilt to the side before straightening again. No cracks of his bones could be heard, so Hank suspected he was having some kind of an attack, or whatever. He was no doctor. "Evening, gentlemen", the man said. Hank held his finger tightly over the trigger but chose not to shoot yet. It was two against one after all, he and Connor could take this man down easily if they needed to. Besides, it seemed like this delinquent had something to say to them.

"My name is Rupert Travis", he introduced himself, peering around their surroundings with a glint of malevolent in his eyes. Hank took the tiniest step closer, furrowing his brows tightly together. He has heard that name before, and now that he got a good look at this guy he knew that it was Rupert. He has seen that face before, that same wide eyed glare only mad men gave. But something didn't add up.

"Bullshit. That's a dead man's name", he growled, aiming right between the man's eyes. Connor lowered his gun without realizing it and looked over at his partner. "How do you know?"

Hank only scuffed a little, revealing the sharpest points of his canines. "I killed him myself a few months back."

Rupert Travis was, _used to be_ , a criminal that was suspected working with Zlatko Andronikov. He was mostly known with his skill of controlling birds - The last time Hank had seen him was at Rupert's own apartment that was a home for who knows how many birds. He was often seen with one winged friend sitting over his shoulder, ready to fly towards the enemy as a distraction. This time, no bird seemed to be by his side. 

But the odd thing was that Hank Anderson had this man as a job. The fight had been hard because Rupert was fast with his feet so in the end he had tackled the man down and stabbed his throat right open. Rupert Travis had died that day. Bled out on the wooden floor with his birds looking down at him. Nothing had been left of him, or so had Hank thought.

"Care to explain how you're alive?" Hank first asked. But Rupert gave no sign of listening. His eyes were looking around wildly - moving along the walls up to the roof, then meeting with Hank's, then turning over to Connor until they stayed on him for long. And no answer to Hank's question came out of him.

"I have heard your job is to take down my _master_ ", Rupert said. At the last word his voice oddly twitched and cracked, becoming high pitched and oddly ... mechanic. "Well, it is _my job to kill you, Anderson._ "

The gun turned to face Hank. A click was heard. And without even thinking, Connor has jumped in front of Hank as a shield.

Rupert's hand shook again, his head twitched to the side, a static noise echoed out of his throat. He fired and a cartridge flew right past Connor's side, ripping the shirt apart and slashing against his skin just enough to tear the skin open. Connor could feel a strong twinge and he gasped before pressing his teeth tightly together. It _hurt,_ more than he had expected. Hank reacted fast, even if he was panicking just a tiny bit. He took a better hold onto his Winchester, pointed at Rupert and fired. Again, and again, and again. Rupert stumbled backwards as three clear holes appeared into his torso and blood started wetting his shirt in blue colors --

Blue?

Rupert's body froze completely. His eyes went blank and stared into nothingness, his mouth staying locked open. And then, his body tilted back and crashed against the dusty wooden floor. Blood, _blue colored blood_ , started covering the floor like a carpet, dripping through the wooden blanks down to the basement. Hank could only stare at the sight in a wild mix of disgust and confusion. Once the scene was subsiding - both Hank and Connor calming down slowly -, he walked over to the body and poked the barrel of his gun against Rupert's stomach.

"Why the hell is he bleeding some blue shit?" Hank Anderson growled, crouching down next to the motionless form of the criminal. With a hand pressed against his wound, Connor walked over to the body, his eyes curiously inspecting the view. He had never seen a dead body before. Or at least he thought he hasn't. 

"Is he alright?" Connor asked. Hank laughed at him. "No, he's fucking dead. Went into another world."

Another world, also known as Heaven, or hell. Afterlife. A place where Rupert Travis was supposed to be in already. Yet here he was, dead again. Hank inspected the body a little longer before his hand reached for the scarf placed over his mouth. "Now I'd like to know why the fuck is his blood blue, and how the hell he is still alive", Hank muttered, mostly to himself, as he grabbed onto the fabric and pulled strongly until Rupert's face was revealed.

It was a horrible sight. Both Hank and Connor quickly stepped away from the body, wide eyes staring down at Rupert's face. His jaw was made out of metal that was rusting strongly. His teeth were visible but they looked oddly shaped, and inside of his mouth there was no tongue, just blackness. His neck seemed to be open, revealing a metallic form underneath the layer of skin that had been ripped out long time ago and was now rotting away. When Hank looked closer, he could see that every metal plate, wire and whatever machine part of him was a perfect copy of human's anatomy. He has seen a man with their throat open before, and this mechanical part over his throat looked the same. Blue liquid was now starting to fall out from his mouth too, for who knows how or why. A damn abomination of God, he was.

"Jesus fucking Christ", Hank spat out, making a face of disgust. "What the fuck is this thing?"

A machine. That's what it was. Hank stepped in closer, crouched down again and almost gagging, he pressed his hand against Rupert's cheek. It felt real. He swallowed strongly and started ripping it off, starting from the edge where skin met metal. It didn't peel off as he had hoped. It was still his real skin, and blood that was more brown than it was red started spurting out, and strings of skin were desperately trying to hold onto the machinery. Hank let go, cursed in disgust and looked away. Connor could just stare.

Hank placed his rifle down and instead took out his knife. He moved over to Rupert's arm and pulled the sleeve up. With a strong inhale, Hank poked the blade against his skin and started cutting his arm open. This time, the skin peeled off much better. No blood of any color, no stickiness, no muscles ripping apart. Even if it felt almost as real as his own skin, it was obvious it was made out of some other unknown material. Hank pulled at the skin strongly until he could see inside. He was no doctor, but he swore that beneath the cables and wires, he could see two lines of white bones.

"It's like .. someone digged his body up and ... build him back alive", Hank came to the conclusion. "He's half-rotting human, half-machine. What the fuck."

Hank had not seen anything like this before. No one had ever seen anything like this before. It was fucking nuts. He was gonna fucking vomit from the smell and from the sight. 

Connor took a small step back and leaned a little to his left hip, but then he whimpered in pain. Hank immediately turned his eyes back to him and noticed the hand that Connor firmly kept over his side. "Oh, shit. You got shot?" Hank asked, putting his knife away and picking up his rifle as he stood up. Connor shook his head.

"No. The bullet just grazed my skin. I'm alright", he said. 

A worried look took over Hank's face as he looked down at his hand, then back up at Connor's eyes. He wanted to help. He wanted to patch his wound up, no matter how small it was. But instead of offering help, he stopped himself and just nodded. "If you're sure, then alright", Hank said quietly, his face falling down onto the body. "You better not die on me, then. We gotta clean this mess up."

Anderson then quickly stormed out of the building like being inside was making him sick. Connor just sighed and placed his firearm back into his holster.

Connor slowly removed his hand from the wound, trying to inspect the damage that had been done. He felt pain. Or that's what he called it. A weird, tingly feeling taking over his side and even some of his insides. He stared down at his palm that was now painted in his blood and then looked down at the dead body next to his feet. Connor quickly pressed his hand back against his side and followed Hank outside.

He needed to get himself a new shirt and heal his wound, before Hank would see that his blood wasn't red, either.

\---

Cripple Creek was the home for the wildest gold rush at the moment. The town was flooded with prospectors looking to strike it rich, and maybe because of that the place was becoming one of the most dangerous places to live in. The town had caught on fire only a year ago, and almost every day some hell broke loose because more and more people wanted gold but not everyone could get their hands on it. Cripple Creek was also known for the railroad that went past it. No wonder why so many people found their way in this city in the first place.

Especially today, when a new train had been build and people had come all around just to see it start moving for the first time. It was painted black from the outside with a strong red line on the sides of it as a decoration. The first few train carts were made for the passengers, build with enough comfortable seats and windows to look out from. The carts followed after were for other things, like transporting supplies and such. And there were many of them. People had surrounded the long steam engine, wondering if it could even move out of its spot. People had also gathered around for the speech - A small stage had been build out of wood and above everyone else, two people stood proudly in front of a crowd of people. 

Elijah Kamski was one of the people who had been designing this steam engine that stood proudly behind him. It was build to go faster, take more weight in, go longer journeys. He was an engineer himself, extremely skillful with his hands. Next to him stood his mentor, teacher, the mayor of the city, a mother figure of some sort named Amanda. She was born into a rich family, and it was visible. She was wearing a dress made out of the finest satin with layers draped over each other, creating a messy asymmetrical look that stood out from the crowd. She had a scarf tied over her shoulder - colored like a sandstorm, or a camp fire at the dark in the middle of the desert. Amanda had expensive jewelry around her neck and wrists, and she had a proud look over her face.

As the mayor, Amanda was giving a speech for the crowd, informing about the long journey the train would be taking. The plan was to have the train stop at as many stops as possible. Quite eager goal, but they had the money and faith to make it happen.

One person is eyeing at the train once it whistled and slowly started moving. He buried his hands into his pockets and watched as people were poking half of their bodies out of the train windows, waving good bye to everyone watching. Kids were screaming, women were throwing away their handkerchiefs, men blowing kisses for the women. He huffed at them and took out a fat cigar, lightning it up before placing it between his lips. 

That train was going to be his.

Zlatko Andronikov could definitely find some use for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaa I'm sorry I'm so slow with this! School is keeping me busy since it's the last year and I'm really trying to get things back in order, but I won't abandon this fic!
> 
> I spend too much fucking time planning this shit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW; There is conversations and dialogue about sexual harassment in this chapter.

Connor isn't sure how he managed to keep his wound hidden from Hank. 

After the bounty hunter had gotten some help from the locals to dispose the body and bury it far outside of the city, Connor took his time to get himself something to patch himself up. He was lucky enough to find bandages from a store - Even if he had no money in his pockets, he got it for free after explaining he had helped to, erm, kill Rupert Travis who had apparently kept the little town on their toes. Then he had found himself a place to clean his wound. Connor refused to see any doctor in this state, so behind someone's house next to a small hay pile was going to be enough.

His wound looked odd. His skin had torn open, but it was a clean cut, extremely clean. Once he had fully removed his shirt and used that to wipe the blood away, he inspected his side a little better. Not much damage had been done. When he tried to open the wound and peek inside, it stung. Ached. _Hurt_. He hadn't bled much, and he wasn't bleeding when he kept poking his wound in a desperate need to see inside, so Connor guessed he was going to be just fine. Lucky son of a bitch.

He started wrapping the bandage around his body, not because it would stop the bleeding or heal his wound, but because it would keep it hidden. He didn't want anyone seeing him at this state, especially after the whole city was talking about a man who was half machine.

Connor inspected his body a little longer now that it seemed like he was alone. He looked normal. He looked like Hank, almost. Skin, skin, skin, no hair, more skin, no wires. Moles, finger nails, strong eyelashes. Little details in his body that felt real, at least to Connor. He didn't look like Rupert who had metal parts to hide. Connor looked human. Expect for this odd little circle thing little bit below his chest. Connor kept circling his finger over it, not knowing what it was. Just a random line in form of a circle. 

Connor started touching himself all over. His skin felt soft and it gave under his fingers when he pressed down hard enough. He could feel his bones - He didn't know what they were made out of. He tried to find the hard spots to touch, and even if he hadn't touched that many humans, Connor felt like he was very hard to touch. His stomach was tight, not something you could grab onto. Hank's stomach looked much softer. 

He had no time to inspect his body longer when he could hear horses running past him. Most likely Hank and whatever locals had helped him to bury the body entering the city again. Connor stoop up, holding his torn shirt in front of his chest as he started walking behind the houses. After some walking, he was lucky to find someone having a laundry day because there is a line of clothes hanging on a rope, dry enough to wear. Connor hated stealing. But right now he had no choice. He grabbed a white top, put it on and then grabbed a black button shirt with some odd red flowery decorations on the shoulders. Connor put it on, deciding he had no time to be picky with his clothing. Besides, his old clothes were torn, and he had a wound to hide.

Closing the buttons of his shirt, he finally decided to come out from the shadows and look for his partner who ... was circling around the place with his horse, Connor's horse tied on a rope to follow after the them. When Hank turned around and saw Connor, he rushed over to him, the horse neighing happily.

"There you fucking are. Was afraid you had left me here with these lunatics", Hank said, still as rude as ever. Connor just shrugged at him. "I just patched myself up, that's all."

Hank just nodded to that. His eyes pierce into Connor's before they run through his form - down to his toes, up to his face again. Hank has noticed the new clothing, obviously. Connor's waiting for some kind of an insult - Maybe Hank was preparing himself to spit out a bull fighter related joke. But instead, he got a dumb goofy smile. "Well, don't ya look handsome!" Hank chuckled. It was unclear if he was being sarcastic of if he genuinely meant that, but even so, it made Connor smile widely.

"Don't get used to me saying that. Now get on your damn horse. We have places to go, places to be", Hank said, tipping his hat a little lower and then looking away. Connor did as he was told, unable to erase the smile from his face for hours as they headed towards their next stop.

\--

The next day could have started better.

Sleeping in the desert had its good parts and bad parts. The good part was, for example, the silence. The bad part was that sleeping without a roof was dangerous, and anyone could just wake you up and rob you out of your belongings while you're still half-asleep. That's exactly what Hank and Connor had woken up to. They had awoken to the sounds of multiple horses running around their campfire and men laughing their asses off. Hank had cursed, growled like a bear as he sat up with his hand stuck in his grey locks. Connor sat up the second he realized people were around them and he gave long, strong stares to each man, one at a time. Sand was kicked over their faces and mocking words were shouted out. There have been better mornings.

"Con, don't do anything", Hank said to him quietly. His hand was reaching for his rifle but someone almost shot his damn fingers off and that was a good way of telling him to stay still. Hank did keep his eyes on Connor - And the damn holster on his waist. For once, Connor had done something stupid that could be useful to them.

Once the local bandits had stopped circling around them, they surrounded the two of them and kept their hands over their weapons, ready to pull them out again and fire. One man with a faint stubble and large eye bags under his eyes jumped off his horse and walked over to them with a crooked grin. "Well, well, well. Did we bother yer beauty sleep?" he cackled, hands placed calmly in his pockets with his thumbs poking out. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to be rude."

"And who are you, if I might ask?" Hank said, squinting a little because of the sun shining over his eyes. He wanted to get his damn hat but was afraid someone would fucking shoot him if he made one wrong move. So instead, he sat over his blanket, elbow pressed against his knee. 

"Perkins. Rich", the man introduced himself. Hank literally rolled his eyes so hard it almost gave him a migraine.

"Look, Richard, we want no trouble. We're just passing through."

"Yeah, through my territory", Richard lifted his eyebrows, chewed on something that was in his mouth and then kicked the ground so hard a little sand was thrown over Hank's shoes. "Ya gotta pay if yer planning to stay the night in my area."

Hank looked over at Connor who returned his gaze before chuckling out loudly. "Oh, I'm real sorry. Didn't know this was a five star hotel", he joked, cackling at himself. But Hank's laughter immediately stopped when he saw the look on Richard's face. And the look on his three friends. One of them was petting their horse. A group of dangerous idiots.

It's obvious what these outlaws want. They want all their cash and whatever belongings they need themselves or they can sell forward, and at the end of the day Hank and Connor are left in the desert with nothing to survive with. He can see Richard eyeing at their belongings, but then his eyes stop on Connor. He stared silently, hands tied behind his back as he observed and observed, until he finally stepped closer when the tension had grown thick enough to cut. "You. Get up", the bandit ordered. Connor looked over at Hank who just opened his eyes wider as to say _'what are you waiting for, do as he says?'_

Connor slowly stood up from his spot and even dared to move and walk over to stand in front of Richard Perkins, keeping his chin proudly up like he had no fear going through his veins. Richard looked him up and down, and when his eyes were glued somewhere over Connor's chest, he hummed. Then whistled. Hank's hand turned into a fist.

"Aren't you a pretty thing", Richard cooed and lifted one hand up to Connor's cheek. He pressed his fingers against the soft skin and stroked down, his head tilted back and his eyes full of curiosity and something else Connor couldn't quite read. "I've never been with a man before, but maybe with ye I can make an exception."

Lust was all over his face in seconds. It wasn't the same kind of lust Connor had seen in Hank's eyes.

Richard's friends seemed to laugh at his comment, slapping their hands against their thighs. Hank turned both of his hands into tight fists, clenching his teeth together. He wished he could reach for his gun and get some kind of control of the situation. Connor, instead, didn't seem too bothered by the weird sexual comments or the danger in front of him.

Richard leaned in closer, grabbed the younger one by his chin and stroked his thumb over his lips. "Maybe we won't steal all of yer stuff if you use that pretty mouth of yours right", he commented. More laughter. More touching. More of Hank getting extremely angry. He hated watching this. His eyes were glued on the scene as Richard leaned in closer, trying to kiss Connor as some kind of a joke and then just cackling when Connor tilted his head away from him. "C'mon. Don't be difficult", he said, making Connor look right into his eyes.

"Don't ye wanna have some fun while yer daddy watches?"

A shot rang loudly in the desert.

Hank had not been able to even register what had happened in just two seconds. Connor had reached for his gun, pulled it out and pointed it at Richard's stomach and fired. The man choked out, immediately moved his hand to cover his wound while his other hand grabbed tightly onto Connor's shoulder. A few gasps were heard before more bullets started flying - Connor pointed the gun higher and shot one bandit. Then another one, and then the last one. All of them fell from their horses, causing the animals to become frightened. It didn't take long when the three horses were running off into the distance.

Connor pushed Richard down against the ground, watching as he choked out blood past his lips. Richard tried to crawl away but he knew he didn't have a chance to get out of here alive, not anymore. While cursing, Richard reached for his gun and pulled it out, but before he could even point it at Connor, he was shot dead on the ground. Connor's face barely twitched as he lowered his weapon and looked around. The horses were running away from the scene, frightened from the shots. Blood was taking over the ground, coloring the sand dark red. Four men were dead, laying with their limps spread out. Somehow, none of it seemed to shock Connor too much. He had just done what felt like the only possible option to take in order to stay alive yourself.

But obviously, Hank was shitting his pants.

"What the hell was that?" he shouted, quickly getting up on his feet and then taking two strong steps away from Connor. Like he was _afraid._ But that's something Hank Anderson would never admit. He just looked confused, his face pale and eyes wide, and for some reason, his mouth hanging open and panting heavily.

"They were going to rob us, Hank", Connor tried to explain, putting his pistol back into his holster. "And he was trying to make me perform sexual favors in front of you. I simply put a stop to it at the best given chance."

"Yeah, but - !"

Hank was stuttering. Stalling with his words. Looking around like he was damn lost. He took a moment to think - His other hand was fisted and pressed against his hip while the other hand rubbed his bearded chin. He walked a little in circles, muttering something to himself before facing Connor again. "Have you killed someone before?" Hank's voice was as cold as a dead body, his glare strong enough to kill, and every muscle in his body clenched tight. 

Connor shook his head. "Never", he said truthfully. Or at least he believed he was telling the truth. "I have never killed anyone, Hank."

Hank doesn't seem to believe him. He sighed a deep 'Jesus Christ' out of his mouth and rubbed his forehead. "So, what? You're just naturally a good shot? You're just born with a real good aim, is that it?" he shouted, finally daring to take a step closer to him. Connor wasn't sure what to say to that. Has he shot a gun before? Was he just made to have a gun in his hand? Was he ... build to be a killer?

"Look around you, Con", Hank's voice dropped lower, his frame moved closer, his eyes turned just a tiny bit softer. "You killed four men, just like that. And it's your first time? Don't you feel any remorse or shit?"

Connor looked around quickly before turning his eyes back on Hank. He could somehow see everything he needed to know in those blue eyes of his. Hank Anderson, a bounty hunter who has pulled the trigger when it was needed, felt remorse for doing so. Connor instead hadn't felt any remorse.

Connor didn't answer him. He was too busy having a staring competition with Hank who looked extremely troubled. He was sweating, panting heavily, and then his gaze fell down and his Adam's apple jumped up and down as he swallowed. "The first time you kill someone should never be fucking easy. It haunts you for the rest of your life", Hank then spat out before stomping away. He started packing his and even Connor's stuff, cursing and muttering quietly, rushing out of the scene because he did not want to be found near four bodies. Connor was frozen in place.

The more he thought about it, the weirder he felt. It was like a black hole was taking over his chest, and Connor couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it. He believed he had done the right thing. It was simple self-defense, just done a little early before he or Hank got hurt. But he didn't really feel bad about it. And that's were it all started crashing onto him.

Connor wasn't a human. So, did he have feelings? Was the ache on his side just an illusion? Was all of his emotions he had felt just errors in his program?

What is his past? Where did he come from?

What the fuck was he?

"Connor. Hey, hey, hey."

The next thing that made sense to Connor was a hand cupping his cheek and a thumb stroking side to side. Hank's palm felt rough, warm and ... So nice. Connor found himself leaning against it without even meaning to. Hank's thumb stroked side to side again, wiping away something wet. Tears. Connor's eyes fell shut. He didn't know he could cry. He didn't know he could cry when he wasn't even human. What the hell was going on? His temple was aching again.

"C'mere. It's ... it's okay." Hank sounded unsure. He sounded awkward, and for a reason. The situation was a bit awkward. Two men surrounded by four bodies having an emotional moment was definitely on the list of their most intractable moments. 

But then Hank pulled his hand back and instead his arms wrapped around Connor. His hold onto him was as gentle as possible as he pulled him close, guiding Connor to rest his head against his shoulder. Hank's musk smelled like tobacco, a mix of the multiple beverages he has taken and a bit of warm sand with a hint of his own sweat. His body felt ... it didn't feel enough because Hank was trying to keep distance between them despite it being a hug. Connor wanted to feel more.

Connor sighed and tilted his head to the side, looking away from Hank, pressing his cheek against the hard point of his shoulder. Connor's arms slowly moved under Hank's and roped themselves around the man, and then he held onto him for dear life. Connor's body pressed against his much softer one, feeling how warm he was underneath his clothes, feeling his stomach suck in and then out as Hank inhaled deeply. Connor's hands grabbed onto his jacket and fisted as much of that thick fabric between his fingers as possible. This _feeling_ Connor got from this simple act made him feel odd things. His chest felt tight. His stomach felt like it was holding in bubbles. His body felt like shaking. Connor liked how this felt like.

Maybe he was more human than he thought he was.

When Hank finally decided to pull back, he patted Connor's back strongly and said they would have to go and find another little town where they could once again ask around about Zlatko and where Hank could get his drink on. Once again, Hank was rushing out of the scene, maybe because he didn't want to take the responsibility for the bodies or he wanted to avoid talking about that hug they had just shared. Either way, Connor didn't care. His mind was too busy wondering how much of him was human and how much was machine. 

He hoped his feelings were human.

\--

Pride Post was as quiet as ever. The sun was setting down - first the sky was glowing in peachy colors, then turned more violet until the colors started to disappear and were replaced with the dark blue of the night. No stars were seen above the small town. The clouds from the small rain that had occurred just a few hours ago were still there, threatening of a bigger storm. But the citizens did not seem to mind as the life outside was higher than usually. Someone was having a birthday party which meant people were coming outside to listen to the music despite not being invited inside. Jericho was fuller than in weeks because the man who had turned a year older had offered to pay for everyone's drinks. Poor man had money but tomorrow he would also have regrets.

Simon wasn't much of a party person. He got nervous when so many people were around, especially when he couldn't escape from awkward conversations by playing the piano because some drunk had started smashing the keys down for him. It was an obvious sign for Simon to go upstairs where all their rooms where since there was no point to try and clean a mess after another mess. He was planning to wait until the place was empty before going back down to do any cleaning.

Markus, of course, had noticed Simon climbing up the stairs so it didn't take long for him to follow him. And Simon had even stopped in the hallway to wait for him, pretending he was inspecting one of Carl Manfred's paintings he had already seen a hundred times.

"Too much partying for the night already?" Markus asked, one of his hands playing with his suspenders. He had that familiar smile on his face. A little crooked with his teeth visible, mixed together with that sparkle in his eyes.

"Yeah", Simon answered awkwardly, turning his gaze back onto that painting of a pair of hands. "I don't like crowds. I enjoy my own company."

"Just your own?" Markus asked. It was quite obvious where he was going with this. He stepped a little closer, eyes analyzing Simon. Markus was obviously curious, looking for an opening. But Simon was like a closed book so it was hard to know when to jump in, at least usually. "You don't enjoy my company?"

Simon finally turned those perfectly soft blue eyes at him and raised his brows. "You know I choose my company very carefully. Would I even like you if I didn't enjoy yours?"

Markus laughed, a lot. He seemed flustered. Maybe that's why he took a step back, spun in a quick circle and blew some air out of his lungs. "You like me, huh?"

"Yes, I like you." Simon's smile was so wide it made his cheeks turn a strong pink. "And before you ask, yes, I like you _that_ way."

"And I thought God was against this stuff", Markus said, gesturing at the both of them. He knew Simon was a strong believer, despite living in this sad excuse of a bar where the others really didn't care about what the Bible said. Simon had just been raised that way. Maybe Markus had been trying to be nice, but be had actually tried to read the damn thing himself in hopes of getting closer to his best friend who also was his ... boyfriend. Markus wished to be more than friends with Simon, even if being that way was 'wrong', or so the people had kept saying. Bible was an odd book to read when you weren't the best reader in the first place.

Simon shook his head. "God's command is to love each other as he loved us", he said in a placid rhythm. "Besides, I'm sure God would never hate anything he has created."

"So, is it okay if I kiss you?" Markus smiled, moving so close he was almost canting against Simon's frame. His hand grabbed him by the chin, lifting Simon's head to look up right at him. He gave him a strong look with passion hidden behind his eyes before Markus started leaning in closer. But Simon stopped him, pressing his fingers over his lips. Markus released a disappointed whine and flashed a confused look.

"You keep asking if it's okay to do this and that with me. You're so focused on what I believe in and if my God will accept this", Simon said to him, his expression falling serious. "Nothing is stopping me from being with you, Markus. I think something is stopping _you,_ though."

He seemed to have hit a hard spot, because Markus seemed to freeze from that. His eyes did move - they focused on a door that was almost never opened by the man who actually lived behind it. Carl Manfred, a man with no working legs painted inside of that room and stayed there most of his time. Markus was the one who took care of him, who fed and washed him, who carried him and his wheelchair downstairs whenever needed. And based on the pale look Markus was starting to have on his face, he was afraid how Carl would react to their relationship.

Simon released a strong sigh. "You have to tell him, Markus. I'm not going to be hiding anymore and stealing small kisses whenever we are alone", Simon said, yet kept looking over to the stairwell like he was afraid someone was going to pop up and ruin their moment. Judging from the music and laughter coming from downstairs, they would be alone for now.

"Simon..."

A finger pressed over Markus' lips. "Come to me when you stop questioning our relationship."

And then the blond slowly walked away, peeking over his shoulder before turning around the corner and entering his own room. 

Markus stood there for a long moment, just thinking, his eyes glued on the door of his adoptive father. He knew Carl Manfred loved him. Yet there was still that fear that Markus was going to anger him somehow and lose everything he had. Carl was, after all, the owner of this bar, of their rooms, of their money and his own paintings. Without him, Markus or any of the others would still be on the streets.

He can trust Carl. Right?

With a deep breath, Markus knocked on his door and waited until he heard the familiar 'come in' yelled out. He twisted the door knob and slid inside of the room as quickly as he could, shutting the door behind him. Carl was at his usual spot - sitting in his wheelchair that was getting rusty and needed to be repaired, with a palette full of paint in his left hand. His right hand reached up, the brush shaking between his fingers as he pressed it against the canvas and stroked it down. The painting was so big it almost touched the roof and it was colored completely blue. The rest of the room was as messy as Carl's paint covered clothes. Dust was on the floor which reminded Markus that he would have to come and mop the floor again. Few empty canvases were placed near the door where they were easy to reach, while the wall on their left was the place where paintings, finished or not, were leaning against. Brushes and paints were all over the table with one leg taped together after it had broken, and underneath the desk there was a pile of papers full of sketches and ideas, Carl's personal evidence of his brainstorming. 

"Come in, Markus", the man called out to him without even needing to turn around to know who it was. "I feel like I'm slowly going blind. Something feels odd in this painting."

Markus slowly stepped closer until he got a good view of the painting and as usually, he tied his hands behind his back and stared for a long time. It was something he did to feel like he knew shit about art. "Tell me. Can you see the figure standing out? I feel like it's all just a blue mess", Carl complained, setting his palette and brushes down onto the table that suddenly tilted and almost fell down, but luckily Carl got a grip on the edge and straightened the table. He - no, Markus - needed to fix that leg better.

"It stands out perfectly. The blue on the skin is much lighter than the blue in the background. The color scheme makes me feel quite calm. It looks ethereal, Carl", Markus analyzed his work and then added some compliments to make this father figure see that he still had his spark.

Carl just shook his head and chuckled. "Sometimes I feel like an old man just clinging to my brushes", he said. Markus just sighed quietly. He did not like talking about health.

"Oh, did you have something to say, or did you come bother me just for fun?" Carl joked, or at least Markus assumed he was joking. Carl would often say things that made it sound like he was angry, but his tone was always calm and his expression was always friendly. His artworks sometimes spoke more than the man himself did.

"... Yes, we need to talk."

Markus took out a stool that luckily seemed dry enough to sit on and he took a seat next to Carl. "You look like you have seen a ghost, Markus. Has something happened?" Carl could immediately tell something was up. He had that artistic eye not many people had - He saw things in his own way, saw things others would usually overlook, saw things no one else could see. Maybe that's why, despite being rich and known well, Carl Manfred's paintings were considered to be too 'out of the blue' and 'out of this world'. And apparently not in the best way.

Markus fiddled with his fingers and took a deep breath. "I think I'm in love."

It felt like the most scariest thing to admit that out loud.

Carl just laughed at him. "That's it? And I thought someone had died downstairs", he smiled. "Well? Who's the lucky girl, then?"

Now Markus was starting to feel extremely nervous. He swallowed so strongly the sound of it almost echoed in the room and he fiddled some more with his fingers. His gaze fell down onto the tip of his shoes that were pressing against the floor. He couldn't even look at the man who raised him without breaking into a sweat.

"Is it North?" Carl asked.

"No! No, no, no", Markus nervously chuckled, shifting in his seat. He pressed his nails against the back of his hand until it hurt, and after couching a little to get his voice back, Markus decided to just spit it out. "It's ... It's Simon."

Now Carl was the one who looked like he had just seen a ghost. But otherwise there wasn't much of a reaction. Carl did look like he was frowning and his brows pressed together tightly. He seemed ... unpleasant very suddenly, and Markus felt like telling him this was a big mistake. 

"I came to tell you this, because I felt like I needed your approval", he continued, trying to fill the unbearable silence that tried to fall between them. Carl gave him no answer and Markus started fearing that he was going to get banished from the only place he could call home. So, he started blurting out whatever he could. "And I didn't want to hide it, because ... You're like a father to me, Carl! I just .. wanted ..."

"Markus, stop it", Carl interrupted him, his voice dangerously low. Markus silenced himself and just stared down at his own feet, feeling like he wasn't even allowed to lift his chin up. He was already planning his future ahead - He would have to pack his things and get out of town if the word would spread. Then he would need a job, a place to live, everything that he was going to lose any minute now.

But all of his fears disappeared when he could see Carl roll closer to him in his wheelchair and then lay his hand down on Markus' knee. "I love you, Markus", he started, and that's all he needed to hear to feel safe and secure again. Carl sighed deeply before saying: "I don't really understand how ... two men could be together like that, but it's not really my business, now is it? I might be too old to understand, anyway."

"I guess not", Markus said quietly. He laid his hand over Carl's, squeezing tightly. His heart was fucking raging against his chest so hard he was afraid it would jump out. 

"So. Is Simon good for you?" Carl asked, and now his face finally turned into a strong smile. And he had that trustworthy look in his eyes.

"Yes. He's the best I've ever had. I feel most safe and secure when I'm with him", Markus confessed. Carl turned a little quiet from that, but he simply nodded and inhaled strongly. It was clear that the painter wasn't sure how to really feel about this, but he was obviously trying to understand and just live with it. "Then ... that's good. It's your life, Markus. All that matters to me is your happiness", he said to him, sliding his hand away and turning his wheelchair back over to the table. He grabbed his palette and brush and moved closer to the painting. "Go on, now. Enjoy the party with your girlfr -- boyfriend. You have my approval."

Markus probably haven't got up so fast in his whole life. He stormed out of the room right after giving Carl a quick hug.

Simon opened the door after the three first knocks and as he had hoped, Markus stood there. He still seemed quite nervous but he had a determined look on his face as he pushed the blonde back inside the room and closed the door behind them.

No words seemed to be needed between them. Simon saw the answer right in his lover's eyes and he smiled, placing his hands on top of Markus' shoulders. Markus moved his own hands over to Simon's waist, pulling their bodies flush together.

And then Markus kissed him, this time without asking for a permission because he knew he had it.

Simon's hands wrapped tightly behind the man's neck as he deepened the kiss, eagerly swallowing that strong taste that was deteriorating Simon deeper into his embrace. He moaned against his mouth when he could feel Markus tighten his grip. He moaned even more when he was pressed against the door and Markus rolled his hips against him. At that point, Simon broke away to catch air into his lungs because his legs were trembling so hard he was afraid to lose his balance and faint.

"I'm falling for you, Simon. Really badly", Markus whispered, pressing their foreheads together while keeping his eyes closed. "I want to spend this night with you."

Simon giggled. He always giggled when he was a bit nervous. Markus laughed a little too, because Simon's laughter was contagious. "I would love that", he said back before moving in for another kiss, this time with his tongue asking for permission. And Markus was more than glad to grand him that permission, and more.

\--

"That's Canis Major, right there. See? It kind of looks like a dude who is waving at you. The brightest start is the head."

"Oh. Oh! I think I see it now."

Neither Hank or Connor knew how they had ended up laying on their backs on the same blanket, staring up at the night sky. Hank blamed the alcohol, as always. After the bandits who had tried to rob them dry, he had been on his edge for the rest of the day. Visiting another town and asking around didn't really calm him down either, especially when his blood started boiling when Zlatko Andronikov was nowhere to be seen or heard. He felt like a damn mess, hunting down a man who was formidable foe that Hank honestly did not want to face. On top of that, he was stuck with a young man who doesn't realize how dangerous he can be.

Connor wasn't really worried. He had killed four men. Four lives. Just like that. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel like after that. For now, Connor just wanted to live in the moment and understand what he was feeling.

Near the town they had visited today, there had been an apple orchard. Hank really liked the apples. He had actually seemed happy to be there. Simply walking between the apple trees with Hank, having a few conversation starters that always died quickly, had made Connor feel ... happy, too. He couldn't forget the image of Hank laughing at something Connor hadn't understood. His cheeks perked up strongly when he smiled, and the gap between his front teeth was always so strongly visible whenever he smiled. The way sun had been shining against Hank's face had made him look even more handsome than before. The man still looked so handsome even when there was a small piece of apple peel stuck in his teeth.

Connor liked looking at Hank. Maybe that's why he had moved to lay down next to Hank and asked about the stars. Maybe that's why he was actually looking at Hank more than he looked at the sky.

"Do you know any other stars?" Connor asked, only getting a shrug from the man. "I know a few shapes and names, but I can't find them from the sky. It's all a big mess of stars, anyway", Hank grumbled. He was right. Connor wasn't sure how humans actually saw anything written in the stars. All he saw was a dark blanket covered in white dots. It was still very pretty to look at.

Hank sat up a bit to take a sip from his flask before closing the tap and falling back down, some air escaping from his lungs. They stared up at the sky again silently, just like they had before, and once again more minutes passed. Until Hank turned his head to look at Connor. "You still don't remember where that came from?"

"Huh?" Connor asked. Before he could turn to look at Hank, the man has turned to his side and reached to touch Connor's temple with his right hand. "This thing right here. It's odd", Hank said, his finger tracing over that circular scar.

Connor swallowed. "No. I don't know where it came from."

"I still think someone has pressed a gun against this spot really hard. But you would think it would be healing already", Hank muttered quietly, pressing his finger down to see if Connor would hiss or be in any pain. He wasn't, or at least didn't know the scar was hurting him. 

Hank pulled his hand away and laid down on his back, facing the night sky. And then he didn't say anything for minutes. He actually quite liked the silence.

Now that he had mentioned guns, all he could think about was the fact how good Connor was with a gun. Perfect aim, steady hand, almost no hesitation when he had a good hold of it. Hank had yelled about it earlier, but he was thankful that Connor had shot those men. He had probably saved their lives. The only thing Hank was worried about was Connor's past. Who was he before he lost all his memories? Hank thought about the possibility of Connor being a vicious criminal before he had lost his memories.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a question that went right past his ears. "Sorry, what did ya say?" Hank blinked a few times to get back into reality. "I asked what does it feel like to kill someone?" Connor repeated his question.

Hank awkwardly chuckled. "You have killed someone, Connor. How did you feel?"

"I felt a lot of things. I'd like to know how _you_ felt."

Now that was an interesting question. Hank locked his hands together over his stomach and stared up at the sky, remembering the first time he had taken a life. "I killed a man who deserved it. I still felt like I was on the wrong there", Hank quietly said, swallowing and licking his lips a lot after each sentence. "Made me feel empty. Kinda scared, too. But I didn't feel too bad about it. I had seen death before, and was gonna see it again."

Connor just nodded to that, wondering if he had anything similar to what Hank had felt. He wasn't sure what emptiness felt like.

"How did you feel, Connor?" Hank asked in return, and then he did something that for some reason caught Connor's attention. Hank raised his arms and moved them behind his head, using his hands as small support for his skull. Connor wasn't sure why that got him because now, depending on the position of Hank's arms, he couldn't see his face that well. But he could see the man's torso better - more clearly, he could see Hank's stomach better. It fascinated him how human body could grow in different ways depending on your meal sizes and the amount of movement your body did every day. He quite liked the way Hank was build.

"I don't think I really felt anything until you mentioned about it", he answered. "But now that I think about it, I feel quite disturbed by the situation we were in today."

Hank still hasn't gone past it. Those men were stupid and too full of themselves, but they had still been dangerous. He sighed deeply: "Look, you did what you had to do. To be honest, I'm glad those four are dead 'cos I did not want to see them use ya or anything."

"Use me?" Connor asked like he had forgotten about the situation already.

"For sexual favors, Con. Some people do that."

"Oh."

Now Connor turned to his side to completely face Hank, and when he did that the space between them got smaller. "Well, that's not really nice. You should always ask for permission, right?" Connor asked. Hank chuckled for whatever reason, rubbing his forehead strongly. "Yeah, you should. But that's the thing about criminals, Connor. They never ask for a permission."

"I didn't ask permission to kill them, either", Connor mumbled. "Am I a criminal?"

Hank turned over to lay on his side, too, and he immediately regretted his decision because he was much, much closer to Connor than he was prepared to be. But he swallowed it down and just tried to act cool. "No - I mean, you committed a crime, but it was self-defense, so, in a way it was okay", Hank explained, moving one of his arms under his head as a pillow. Connor slowly nodded to Hank before giving him a small smile, maybe because he felt better knowing that at the end Hank supported his decision.

"What if I gave you a permission to kill me? Would it still be a crime?" Connor asked. Hank burst out in strong laughter, so hard he had to couch a little to collect himself back together.

"Yeah, murder is murder and murder is crime", he said.

"But you had my permission for it."

Hank laughed again and for whatever reason that deep thunder escaping from the bottom of his stomach made Connor's chest flutter. "Taking someone's life is still wrong. Well, unless it's a mercy killing. But it's still wrong, because how can the officials know if you had a permission to murder someone or not?" Hank explained. Connor's mouth locked open into a small 'o' as a sign of understanding.

"Okay. What if I had a permission to steal something? Is that a crime?"

Hank swore Connor was as stupid as a tree trunk. "Theft is taking something that isn't yours. If someone says that, hey, you can take their apple, then it's not theft. It's a gift from them. Or if you give money in return then you have bought it."

Connor nodded, his lips still parted a bit. He finally seemed to understand the deal here and Hank had a chance to catch his breath and calm down. But just when he was about to turn on his back and continue gazing up at the stars until he would pass out, Connor was back with more questions.

"Do people ask permission to have sex with someone?"

Hank choked a little bit on air. Jesus, was he talking to an alien or something? But then again, Connor was an odd fellow with no damn memories. Hank wouldn't be surprised his understanding of how the world worked would have disappeared with his memories, too. "Uh, yes, in a way", Hank swallowed, then gathered saliva into his dry mouth. "Sometimes people don't need to ask for permission. There's a mutual understanding you both wanna bang each other."

"But you should still ask permission before you go and do anything?" Connor asked, blinking with those damn long eyelashes of his.

"Yeah. It's the right thing to do to check if your partner is into it as much as you are", Hank said. "Some folks don't do that, which makes them assholes. But it's good to ask for permission, or whatever."

Connor hummed quietly to that and then finally stopped with the questions. Hank thought he could relax now, maybe drink just a little more and then stare up at the sky but something kept him locked in place. It was those damn eyes again. Connor's brown irises were just staring into his soul, expect this time the look was more questioning than observing. Hank didn't know what else to do but to stare back, and then ask; "You have something to say?" like a damn idiot.

"I do, actually", Connor said, blinking slowly. "May I kiss you?"

Fucking Christ, Hank swore that his heart has never skipped a beat this hard in his whole life. It was fucking embarrassing how those four words affected him so strongly. His palms got sweaty in seconds and his throat felt tight suddenly. Hell, Hank even swore he was growing ruddy. "Why?" is the only thing that managed to come out of his mouth. His voice was so quiet that for a moment Hank wasn't sure if Connor had even heard him. But then there is that smile again that should be counted as an illegal activity. No one should be this damn handsome.

"I don't know", Conno said quietly. "I just really want to."

Maybe there is nothing wrong with one little kiss. I mean, Connor is curious as hell. He has no memories, no past. He has no path he seemed to be following. Maybe after all this is done, Connor will know who he really is and will be out of Hank's life. So, maybe, just maybe, one kiss won't mean anything.

"Uh, sure", Hank managed to mumble out, the smell of alcohol heavy in his breath as he exhaled deeply. "Ya have my permission."

It was awkward as hell. Connor leaned in closer, his whole body inching forward and then his lips pressed against Hank's so softly Hank barely felt it. It was the exact kind of kiss kids give to each other. Two closed mouths just weirdly pressed together. Connor did pull back quite soon and judging from his smile he was satisfied. Hank wasn't.

"What the fuck was that?" he giggled.

"A kiss", Connor said, insisted. 

Hank rolled his eyes so hard his head hurt. This was amusing as hell. Connor didn't know how to kiss properly but he knew how to shoot a gun really damn well. But even if that kiss had felt like barely anything, it still had made Hank feel extremely nervous. And what he was planning to do next made his heart beat even faster than before. "Whatever you say, kiddo. Let me show you what a real kiss is like."

Hank wasn't sure where he got the courage to prop himself up to his elbow and tower over Connor's body as he leaned down to kiss him again. It started pretty much the same, expect this time Hank was guiding Connor to part his lips open. And when he did, woah, the fireworks went flying then. It's been way too long since the last time Hank has kissed anyone - Did it always feel like your body was going to break because your heart was going nuts and your limbs were shaky?

His hand moved to cup Connor's cheek, his leg snaked between Connor's legs and his body pressed stronger against his. Hank completely melted into the kiss when Connor lifted his hands and moved to wrap them around Hank's form, gripping onto his shirt. Hank dared to start moving his lips over Connor's, and thank God this kid was a fast learner because soon Connor was smacking his lips against his, releasing soft whines against Hank's mouth. If this old man was going to die any day soon, it would be because of Connor.

Despite having no experience or just not remembering how kissing worked, Connor sure was good at it. He was the one who picked up the pace first, opening his mouth wider, kissing Hank again and again without giving the poor man a chance to catch air into his lungs. Hank had never thought kissing could be so good. He blamed the alcohol. And the hormones, or whatever.

Hank opened his mouth a bit wider and pushed his tongue inside Connor's mouth, earning a wild moan in return. Jesus Christ. This is more than a kiss. Yet Hank can't bring himself to stop. It's the alcohol. It's the alcohol. He won't even remember this all tomorrow. It's just some heavy make out session that they both will feel awkward about.

Hank's hand slid down from Connor's cheek down to the side of his neck, then cradling the nape of his neck. Hank rubbed his fingers down against his neck while his tongue stroked over Connor's, and Connor's body fucking jolted. His hips raised up in a sudden motion, then crashed down hard. His thighs squeezed together as much as they could with Hank's own leg trapped between them, and the most sinful moan escaped from Connor's mouth.

Something fucking twitched underneath Hank's fingers located at the nape of Connor's neck. 

_It didn't feel human._

Hank didn't know what the fuck to do but to break away from the kiss and end it. He was drunk. Well, not drunk enough to hallucinate something odd moving in someone's neck, but maybe drunk enough to just think it was a part of his imagination. Besides, Hank isn't ready to go any further than kissing. Connor wass left confused as Hank moved away from him, turning over to his other side, turning his back to him. "We should get some rest", Hank said quietly, closing his eyes and pretending he was asleep. He needed to actually sleep. He needed to deal with all that tomorrow, but not now. Not when all his mind could do was to just scream.

"Hank", Connor said quietly, reaching to touch Hank's shoulder but then Connor pulled himself back. He didn't want to bother Hank, especially when he growled and said: "I'm just tired. Get some sleep."

Connor laid down onto his back and looked up at the stars, trying to think were they had went wrong. He wanted to talk about it, but decided to leave that for tomorrow. The awkward silence took over them as Connor caressed his lips gently, still feeling quite pleased of what had just happened. He then moved his hand to the back of his neck and shivered.

Oh. 

That felt good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it took me so long to update this! My sciatica pains are so bad I can't even sit, and the pain is bothering me all the time. But I hope soon it will be healing. I still feel blehhh about my writing but I'm trying to get back into this despite everything being busy as hell.


End file.
